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WILLIAM  PER^r  5ANDiiiiib 


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DAYS  THAT  ARE  DONE 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  DONE 


Dedication 

To  my  father,  W.  H.  Sanders,  and 
others  who  have  helped  make  the  '"to- 
days" possible,  this  book  is  dedicated. 


THE  AUTHOR 
Some  Twenty  Years  Ago 


DAYS  THAT  ARE  DONE 


by 
WILLIAM  PERRY, SANDERS 


The  day  is  done  and  the  darkness, 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  night 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

— Longfellow. 


LOS  ANGELES,  U.  S.  A. 
GRAFTON  PUBLISHING  CORPORATION 

1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 

by 

WILLIAM  PERRY  SANDERS 

Santa  Monica,  California 

All  rights  reserved 


^  485^t 


Preface. 

I  HAVE  earnestly  tried  to  draw  a  few 
''pen-pictures''  of  things  belonging  to 
the  "yesterdays''  or  days  gone  by.  As 
the  motto  of  today  is  ''Look  forward, 
'not  back,"  probably  from  the  fact  that 
Lot's  wife  was  converted  into  a  sack,  no,  a  pillar 
of  salt  from  looking  backward,  I  have  for  the 
safety  and  convenience  of  my  reader  provided 
a  "periscope,"  i.  e.  my  memories. 

The  six  articles  are  offered  in  the  order  in 
which  the  principals  have  "passed  out,"  as  nearly 
as  possible. 

This  book  is  respectfully  submitted,  not  as  a 
rhetorical  masterpiece  replete  with  flowery  phrases 
in  precise  arrangement,  but  rather  as  a  compila- 
tion from  painful  experience  and  observation. 
Nothing  of  a  misleading  or  objectionable  nature 
will  be  found  herein ;  in  the  words  of  the  immortal 
country  physician,  who  generally  said  of  his  medi- 
cines, "It  won't  hurt  you  if  it  don't  do  you  no 
good." 

—The  Author. 


The  Passing  of  the  Buffalo 

HE  articles  which  are  being  written 
of  buffalo  hunters  and  hunting  remind 
me  of  an  incident  of  which  my  father 
once  told  me  and  which  I  have  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  or  dispute,  as  I  have  known 
my  father  for  something  like  forty  years  and  can 
truthfully  say  that  I  have  found  what  he  has  told 
me  during  that  time  to  be  "straight  goods,"  gen- 
erally speaking.  He  said  ''We  were  generally 
too  busy  and  the  distance  was  too  great  for  our 
own  outfit  to  attempt  to  haul  out  "our  hides'* 
so  we  usually  made  arrangements  with  some 
reliable  freighting  outfits  to  make  the  trip  out  to 
our  camp  once  or  twice  a  year,  bringing  out  sup- 
plies to  us  and  taking  back  the  hides  which  we 
had  taken,  and  had  all  stretched,  dried  and  stacked, 
ready  for  transportation  to  the  outside  world 
which  lay  far  beyond  the  distant  horizon.  Such 
a  freighter  was  George  Guinn,  who  was  hauling 
to  Fort  Griffen,  Texas,  for  me  at  the  time  of  the 
odd  "happenstance"  of  which  I  speak.  The  trip 
was  of  course,  a  most  hazardous  undertaking,  as 
the  country  was  very  thinly  settled  indeed  with 


14  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

no  roads  whatever  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
distance,  which  at  this  time  was  about  four  hun- 
dred miles,  as  the  crow  flies.  The  Indians  were 
ever  on  the  alert,  and  did  not  sneeze  at  anything 
like  an  ox-train  of  supplies  if  the  trip  was  out; 
if  it  was  an  in-bound  trip  the  noble  red  men 
would  kill  any  unwary  freighter,  just  to  see  him 
kick,  while  his  wagons  would  go  up  in  smoke. 

On  this  particular  trip  George  had  been  having 
some  trouble  with  his  understudy  in  the  "bull- 
whacking"  science,  and  when  one  morning  Friday 
used  an  entire  box  of  axle  dope  at  one  greasing  of 
the  wagon  wheels,  Guinn,  whose  temper  was 
rather  ''hair-triggered''  anyway,  promptly  fired 
him.  He  told  him  he  could  take  his  clothes  and 
go,  or  in  more  modern  parlance  he  advised  him 
to  ''beat  it.''  This  left  the  transportation  company 
rather  short  on  help  but  long  on  profanity  of 
which  George  Guinn  kept  a  most  wonderful  sup- 
ply. He  afterward  said  that  if  he  hadn't  had 
a  good  use  of  "caustic"  words  that  he  could  never 
have  coaxed  those  cattle  through .  those  many 
miles  of  Indian  infested  country  with  help,  much 
less  alone.  He  had  four  heavy  wagons,  eight 
cattle  to  the  wagon;  his  solution  of  the  difficulty 
of  handling  so  many  wagons  alone  was  to  chain 
the  lead  cattle  of  three  of  his  units  to  the  rear 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  15 

of  the  wagon  ahead,  so  it  was  a  case  of  ''Let's 
go''  when  he  started  his  leading  Baldwin  locomo- 
tive. He  had  a  pony  which  he  rode  up  and  down 
the  procession,  exhorting,  blaspheming  and  hand- 
ing out  his  bouquets  of  curses  with  a  free 'hand 
to  his  respective  oxen,  and  backing  up  his  decis- 
ions with  a  long  heavy  whip  which  he  wore  curled 
around  his  neck,  which  was  the  prevailing  style 
at  that  time.  His  chief  difficulty  came  at  night 
when  it  was  time  to  pitch  his  lonely  camp,  and 
un-yoke  the  tired  cattle.  The  best  he  could  do  on 
this  proposition  was  to  let  the  oxen  loose  in  pairs, 
never  removing  the  heavy  yokes  for  nearly  two 
weeks.  Of  course  the  cattle  could  graze  and  rest 
after  a  fashion,  but  not  with  any  great  satisfac- 
tion. To  prevent  the  pairs  of  oxen  from  straying 
away  and  being  lost  he  used  a  very  loud  toned 
bell,  one  bell  to  each  couole  of  promenaders,  the 
bell  being  secured  around  the  neck  of  one  of  the 
steers  by  a  strong  strap  of  leather.  We  saw  the 
dust  of  his  train  from  our  camp,  while  he  was 
several  miles  out;  in  fact  we  had  been  watching 
the  point  of  the  compass  from  which  he  would 
come  for  more  than  a  week,  and  were  becoming 
quite  anxious,  wondering  if  he  had  met  the  fate 
which  had  befallen  so  many  freighters.  When 
we  saw  that  it  was  Guinn's  train  and  not  another 


16  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

passing  herd  of  buffalo,  I  saddled  my  pony  and 
rode  out  to  meet  him  and  deliver  the  keys  of  our 
fair  city,  which  was  also  good  practice  even  at 
that  date.  When  I  came  up  to  within  something 
like  a  half  mile  of  the  "on-rushing  train"  I  sud- 
denly became  conscious  of  a  most  unearthly  jangle 
and  clatter,  which  I  could  not  figure  out.  After 
a  time  Guinn  came  riding  up,  covered  with 
dust  and  a  style  of  profanity  which  would  have 
made  a  pirate  pause  in  wonder  or  despair.  As 
the  oxen  went  plodding  seriously  on  their  way 
toward  our  nearby  camp  I  discovered  the  cause 
of  the  fearful  din ;  each  pair  of  oxen  was  decorated 
with  a  bell,  the  ''clapper''  of  which  was  not  muff  eled 
or  tied  but  was  adding  its  ''silvery"  tone  to  the 
great  chorus.  When  I  asked  Guinn  if  that  was 
to  keep  him  from  being  lonesome  he  explained 
that  he  had  been  muffling  the  bells  during  the 
day,  but  on  this  morning  he  made  an  extra  early 
start,  as  he  wished  to  get  in  that  night  and  had 
not  taken  the  time  to  "close  his  cut-out." 

Upon  looking  into  the  wagons,  I  noticed  quite  a 
number  of  logs  and  asked  George  what  was  the 
idea,  as  we  had  plenty  of  wood,  and  it  looked  to 
me  as  though  he  had  plenty  of  freight  without 
the  wood.  He  said,  "That's  to  make  them  walk 
on  their  toes"  and  explained  that  unless  cattle 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  17 

walk  at  a  steady  pull,  that  they  are  inclined  to 
hold  back,  thus  bruising  the  heel,  which  is  quite 
soft,  and  rendering  them  sore  footed  in  a  very 
short  time.  Verily,  every  man  to  his  trade;  but 
within  the  next  few  days  I  showed  him  a  few  of 
the  fine  points  of  buffalo  hunting,  and  we  were 
quits.  I  remember  the  first  day  we  went  out  that 
we  located  a  herd  and  after  carefully  crawling 
up  to  shooting  distance,  Henry  Street  shot  and 
killed  the  first  buffalo  dead  in  his  tracks;  this  is 
necessary  to  secure  a  "stand."  The  remaining 
buffalo  in  the  herd  at  once  stopped  and  turned 
facing  us.  -This  was  too  much  for  Guinn,  who 
thought  that  we  were  about  to  be  charged.  He 
leaped  to  his  feet,  while  Street  hurriedly  said  in 
an  undertone,  ''Sit  down,  George ;  Tve  got  a  stand 
on    them.''      George    very    ungraciously    replied 

''Stand  be  d d,  Fm  going  to  camp,''  which  he 

did  by  the  shortest  route,  while  the  herd  thundered 
away  in  the  opposite  direction. 

After  resting  his  power  plant  for  about  ten 
days  Guinn  concluded  that  he  was  ready  for 
another  session,  and  as  I  had  a  man  who  did  not 
care  for  the  beauties  of  our  simple,  butterfly  life, 
but  made  known  his  wish  to  go  back  with  the 
returning  freighter,  George  was  ready  to  receive 
his  cargo  of  hides.     The  dried  hides  were  piled 


18  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

in  high  stacks  in  what  we  called  the  '*hide  yard'' 
which  was  simply  a  level  stretch  of  ground  where 
we  pegged  or  stretched  the  hides  upon  the  ground 
to  dry,  which  they  usually  did  in  from  five  to 
eight  days.  A  wagon  would  be  drawn  up  along- 
side one  of  the  piles  of  hides  and  their  last  ride 
would  be  on.  As  dried  hides  are  very  springy 
and  refuse  to  lie  compactly,  unless  compressed, 
it  was  necessary  to  do  this  in  order  to  get  a  load 
as  to  weight  as  well  as  bulk.  The  method  was  to 
put  quite  a  number  of  hides  on  the  wagon,  pass 
a  long  chain  across  the  top,  and  fasten  it  around 
the  hub  of  a  huge  wheel  on  either  side.  The  oxen 
would  then  be  started  up  and  as  the  chain  was 
wound  around  the  hubs,  the  strain  became  tre- 
mendous and  the  hides  were  reduced  to  a  very 
compact  bundle.  They  would  be  tied  securely  and 
another  lot  piled  on  after  which  our  "compressor'' 
would  be  called  into  action  again. 

This  performance  would  be  repeated  until  the 
desired  load  was  secured.  Guinn  was  aboard  the 
wagon  on  this  morning,  placing  the  hides  to  his 
satisfaction ;  we  had  the  regulation  pile  aboard  and 
were  using  the  log-chain  compressor.  At  this 
point  the  oxen  must  have  laid  out  some  extra 
muscle,  for  suddenly  the  chain  parted  with  a  snap 
and  instantly  the  air  was  filled  with  a  small  cloud 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  19 

of  flying  buffalo  hides,  with  Guinn  in  the  midst. 
Fortunately  for  him,  enough  of  the  hides  beat 
him  back  to  terra-firma  to  break  the  force  of  his 
fall,  but  he  was  badly  shaken  up  at  that.  We 
rushed  forward,  expecting  to  find  him  badly  hurt, 
and  found  him  receiving  company  on  his  Bunch 
of  hides  and  very  pale  indeed  for  royalty.  I 
yelled,  "Are  you  hurt^ George?''  He  replied,  "No, 
I  guess  not ;  but  say,  I  took  a  trip  up  near  where 
they  say  Heaven  is,  and  now  I'm  back  down  here 
in  hell." 

Poor  old  George.  He  is  now  sleeping  in  a 
lonely  grave  far  up  on  the  side  of  the  Magdalena 
Mountains,  in  New  Mexico,  and  may  he  be  in  that 
Heaven  he  mentioned,  if  that  be  possible,  and 
may  the  person  who  so  fouly  murdered  him  be 
in  the  other  place.  He  had  a  very  good  mining 
claim  up  near  the  mountain  top;  near  by  was 
his  cabin  where  he  lived  all  alone.  When  he  had 
not  been  seen  for  several  weeks  an  investigation 
was  made  and  Guinn  was  found  near  his  mine 
shaft,  shot  in  the  back  and  most  likely  with  his 
own  rifle,  as  that  and  all  his  other  possessions 
were  missing.  It  was  impossible  to  move  him, 
so  he  is  resting  there  to  music  furnished  by  the 
wind  sighing  through  the  trees,  accompanied  by 
the  howl  of  the  distant  coyote." 


20  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

A  CLOSE  CALL 

At  another  time  the  sight  of  his  old  ''buffalo 
gun''  caused  him  to  tell  me  of  another  incident, 
which  I  think  might  safely  be  said  to  be  a  close 
call.  In  speaking  of  this  adventure  of  a  by-gone 
day  my  father  said : 

"I  very  rarely  relate  anything  concerning  the 
old  days  on  'the  buffalo  range'  as  most  people  of 
today  v^ould  be  inclined  to  doubt  what  I  had  to 
say,  and  might  intimate  that  I  was  trying  to  make 
myself  interesting  at  the  expense  of  truth.  For 
instance,  it  would  be  hard  at  this  date  to  convince 
the  general  public  as  to  the  immensity  of  the 
herds  of  buffalo  that  w^ould  pass  continually  day 
and  night  for  perhaps  a  week  at  a  stretch.  These 
herds  would  extend  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
and  in  a  level  country  at  that.  The  few  old  timers 
w^ho  are  left  will  bear  me  out  in  this.  Then  would 
come  a  morning  when  there  was  not  a  buffalo 
in  sight,  with  the  possible  exception  of  a  few 
scattering  cripples  or  poor  conditioned  animals, 
known  to  the  hunting  profession  as  'scalawags.' 

I  recall  very  clearly  one  incident  of  my  hunting 
career  of  which  I  carry  a  constant  reminder  or 
memento.  I  started  out  one  morning  on  my  daily 
hunt,  as  mine  was  the  task  of  finding  and  killing 
the  buffalo,  to  be  followed  later  by  professional 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  21 

skinners,  who  removed  the  hides  and  hauled  them 
in  to  camp  in  wagons  where  they  were  stretched 
upon  the  ground  and  held  in  that  position  until 
dry,  by  long  wooden  pins.  When  perfectly  dry 
the  hides  were  ready  to  be  hauled  to  the  nearest 
point  of  civilization  which  was  generally  from 
four  to  five  hundred  miles.  The  first  and  most 
important  matter  after  finding  a  herd  of  suitable 
size  was  to  secure  a  ''stand.''  This  was  accom- 
plished by  crawling  very  carefully  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  herd  of  grazing,  resting  or  slowly 
traveling  animals.  Great  care  had  to  be  taken  to 
keep  the  buffalo  always  to  the  windward,  as  their 
sense  of  smell  was  most  wonderfully  keen  but 
their  eyesight  was  poor,  partly  from  the  fact  that 
they  always  wore  a  great  mop  of  long  hair,  liber- 
ally caked  with  mud,  which  covered  most  of  the 
head.  After  getting  into  good  shooting  distance, 
from  two  to  three  hundred  yards,  came  the  critical 
stage  of  the  game  as  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
to  drop  the  first  two  or  three  buffalo  fired  at  dead 
in  their  tracks.  The  entire  herd  would  then  stop, 
if  traveling,  and  stand  staring  stupidly  about, 
apparently  in  no  wise  excited.  If  you  were  care- 
less or  excited  and  merely  wounded  the  first  one, 
away  he  would  dash  with  the  entire  herd  following 
in  a  cloud  of  dust.    At  this  point  the  hunter  would 


22  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

spend  some  time  in  either  blaspheming  his  gun 
or  kicking  himself,  which  was  certainly  more 
honest. 

Everything  went  well  on  this  particular  morn- 
ing; I  found  a  herd  not  many  miles  from  camp 
and  soon  secured  a  good  stand  by  killing  the  first 
one  outright.  It  was  then  simply  a  case  of  marks- 
manship, and  they  used  to  tell  me  that  I  w^as  a 
fine  shot,  which  was  partly  true  no  doubt,  as  I 
certainly  had  plenty  of  practice.  With  an  occa- 
sional clean  miss,  which  is  to  be  preferred  to 
several  wounded,  I  killed  the  entire  bunch  which 
numbered  about  two  hundred.  At  least  I  thought 
that  they  were  all  dead  and  was  walking  up  to 
where  they  lay  scattered  about ;  when  I  was  within 
a  few  yards  of  the  nearest,  an  enormous  bull  sud- 
denly scrambled  to  his  feet  and  stood  swaying  his 
head  from  side  to  side.  It  afterward  developed 
that  this  fellow  had  been  stunned  by  a  high  shot 
across  the  top  of  the  neck.  A  wound  of  this  nature, 
across  the  sinews  of  the  neck,  is  quite  similar  to 
the  prize-fighters  ''hook  to  the  jaw''  only  this  is 
more  so.  Now  don't  believe  the  ''movies";  a 
wounded  buffalo  will  fight  and  sometimes  seemed 
to  welcome  the  opportunity.  I  was  surprised  and 
rather  embarrassed  at  being  so  close  to  "his  nibs" 
but  immediately  threw  my  rifle  up  for  a  quick 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  23 

shot.  I  pulled  for  his  shoulders,  a  dead  shot,  but 
in  the  flurry  of  the  moment  took  poor  aim  or 
else  he  swung  around  suddenly  as  I  pressed  the 
trigger;  at  any  rate  the  bullet  struck  him  back 
of  the  shoulders,  through  the  lungs.  This  is  a 
fatal  shot  but  does  not  necessarily  produce  instant 
death.  He  got  his  bearings  about  then  and  with 
head  down  and  tail  up,  charged  me.  I  was  using 
a  single  shot,  22  pound,  Sharps  50  calibre  rifle, 
which  handled  a  500  grain  ball  and  required  a 
handful  of  black  powder,  the  only  kind  known  at 
that  time.  I  loaded  the  cartridges  myself  at  odd 
t'mes  in  camp.  A  modern  high  powered  rifle 
of  the  repeating  type,  with  steel  jacketed  bullets 
would  have  been  handy  just  then  but  I  did  not 
have  time  to  wait.  There  was  not  a  tree  within 
miles,  and  before  I  could  even  get  the  shell  out 
of  the  gun  the  ton  of  vengeance  was  upon  me. 
I  dropped  the  useless  gun  and  tried  some  fast 
foot  work,  but  this  didn't  help  long,  as  the  buffalo 
was  the  very  quickest  large  animal  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  This  customer  could  dodge  and  turn 
just  as  quick  as  I  could.  At  one  time  I  actually 
had  him  by  the  tail  but  was  quickly  flung  loose 
as  he  furiously  swung  about,  and  as  I  fell  sprawl- 
ing, was  at  his  mercy.  He  immediately  sprang 
over  me  and  began  trying  to  gore  me,  but  a  most 


24  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

thoughtful  Providence  did  not  place  a  buffalo's 
horns  at  the  same  angle  as  the  domestic  bovines 
but  turned  them  straight  up — a  fact  to  which  I 
owe  my  life.  Snorting  and  puffing  in  my  face, 
and  smashing  me  terrible  jolts  with  his  heavy 
head,  this  party  didn't  seem  to  realize  that  he 
was  doing  more  execution  with  his  hoofs  than 
with  his  horns,  as  he  trampled  all  over  my  arms 
and  legs,  tearing  the  flesh  from  the  bones  in 
many  places;  my  left  shoulder  was  broken,  my 
face  stepped  into  once  at  least  while  my  clothes 
were  in  rags.  That  was  the  busiest  buffalo  I  ever 
saw.  These  pleasantries  went  on  for  about  ten 
minutes,  I  should  judge,  though  it  seemed  ten 
years,  while  he  was  bleading  to  death  from  the 
shot  which  had  torn  through  his  lungs.  The  blood 
was  gushing  down  into  my  face  and  in  fact  all 
over  me,  which  didn't  help  matters  any.  Finally, 
when  I  had  about  lost  consciousness  under  the 
strenuous  massaging  which  I  was  receiving,  I 
noticed  the  huge  body  above  me  beginning  to 
sway,  but  wasn't  just  sure  of  that  even,  as  the 
whole  universe  seemed  to  be  whirling  around. 
However,  I  soon  saw  that  he  was  actually  dying 
and  he  came  crashing  to  the  earth  I  managed  to 
roll  to  one  side.  *  *  *  When  I  next  regained  full 
consciousness  I  was  lying  with  my  hands  and  part 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 


25 


of  my  face  in  a  little  puddle  of  muddy  rain  water, 
where  I  had  evidently  crawled  in  my  agony.  After 
a  bit  I  tried  to  stand  upright  but  the  pain  which 
this  caused  was  such  as  to  turn  me  sick  and  almost 
blind.  I  lay  around  the  water-hole  trying  to  drink 
the  hot,  muddy  water  until  afternoon  when  the 
boys  came  out  to  begin  skinning,  and  found  me, 
more  dead  than  alive. 

It  was  many  a  weary  day  before  I  shouldered 
my  rifle  again,  as  medical  attention  was  out  of 
the  question.  I  have  had  several  close  calls  but 
don't  think  that  I  have  ever  been  nearer  death. 


■||||^H|H 

n ' 

1  "^ 

^^^^^^^^^^^^H 
^^^^^^^1 

The  Passing  of  the  Indian 

[0  much  is  being  written  of  the  passing 
of  *'mile-posts''  or  things  that  have  at 
different  periods  in  the  history  of  our 
great  country  played  really  important 
parts  in  the  struggle  for  supremacy, 
that  it  would  not  be  a  square  deal  to  overlook  our 
''red  brothers''  who  certainly  had  their  side  of  the 
story ;  their  grievance,  if  you  please.  It  has  been 
my  observation  that  there  are  two  sides  to  every- 
thing, unless  indeed  it  is  some  of  the  structures  put 
up  by  the  moving  picture  concerns  for  photo- 
graphic work.  Such  buildings  generally  have  a 
Queen  Anne  front  and  a  Mary  Jane  back. 

The  subject  of  the  Indian  is  a  deep  one  and  has 
been  treated  by  writers  who  are  so  greatly  my 
superior,  that  I  will  not  attempt  to  go  far  under 
the  surface  at  any  time  so  th^t  my  suffering  read- 
ers will  not  be  in  any  danger  of  losing  either 
breath  or  consciousness.  My  effort  will  be  to  place 
before  you  a  few  brief  stories  as  told  to  me  by 
my  father  and  based  upon  his  buffalo  hunting  ex- 
periences, from  1871  to  1878.  These  stories  are 
true,  though  it  is  very  doubtful  if  that  will  carry 


28  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

any  extra  weight,  in  this  day  of  our  screen  efforts 
with  "Deadly  Diamond  Dick''  in  the  foreground, 
a  six-shooter  in  either  fist,  spouting  death  and  de- 
struction in  all  directions,  while  the  ''bloodthirsty 
red-skins  lie  in  heaps,''  all  ready  to  bale  for  mar- 
ket. To  the  old  timers  who  are  left  these  fearful 
sights  of  carnage  must  be  tiring  in  the  extreme. 

There  is  nothing  to  surpass  the  motion  pictures 
as  long  as  they  cling  to  the  right  idea,  and  without 
doubt  they  can  appeal  to  the  emotions  of  the  public 
to  a  much  greater  extent  than  the  press;  there 
is  practically  no  limit  to  the  good  lessons  which 
may  be  placed  before  us,  and  I  earnestly  petition 
the  producers  to  lay  off  the  ''blood  and  thunder" 
and  the  offensive  stuff  and  give  us  good  wholesome 
instructive  pictures. 

Father  and  I  have  had  many  arguments  over 
the  Indian  question,  and  in  the  main  I  suppose 
he  was  right.  He  said  that  he  would  have 
fought  too,  had  conditions  been  reversed,  with 
people  coming  in  and  taking  away  the  lands  which 
they  had  always  considered  their  own,  killing  their 
buffalo  and  other  game  and  driving  them  away 
to  the  far  frontier.  I  remember  that  his  pet 
phrase  was  "The  Indian  is  the  only  true  born 
American."  Just  for  the  sake  of  argument  I 
would  remark  "No  more  so  than  the  coyote." 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  29 

Personally,  I  have  no  quarrel  with  the  Indian 
as  he  has  always  treated  me  what  I  considered 
right,  i.  e.  by  letting  me  strictly  alone.  I  have  at 
different  periods  in  my  lifetime  lived  near  the 
reservations  of  the  Zunis,  Navajos  and  the  worst 
of  all,  the  Apaches.  In  my  native  state  the  Com- 
manches  used  to  keep  the  Rangers  guessing,  and 
almost  made  life  a  burden  for  them.  Where  I 
lived  in  New  Mexico  was  very  near  the  favorite 
stamping  ground  of  our  old  friend,  Geronimo,  and 
later  the  famous  Apache  Kid.  We  are  glad  to 
know  that  they  have  all  been  relegated  to  the 
rear. 

I  remember  very  distinctly,  and  shall  never 
forget  **as  long  as  I  remember''  one  of  my  intro- 
ductions to  the  "true  born  American.''  This  was 
at  the  tender  age  of  thirteen,  and  I  am  certain  that 
I  did  not  grow  any  more  for  as  much  as  six 
months,  if  fright  will  stop  the  growth  of  a  boy. 

My  people  had  gone  to  town,  twelve  miles  away, 
for  the  mail  and  supplies  leaving  me  to  watch 
the  ranch  that  it  should  not  run  away.  The  near- 
est neighbors  were  just  that  same  twelve  miles 
distant,  a  fact  of  which  I  was  well  aware  and  the 
knowledge  afforded  me  no  satisfaction.  How- 
ever, I  was  due  to  receive  company.  I  suddenly 
heard  a  most  unearthly  yelling,  and  looking  down 


30  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

the  road,  some  two  or  three  hundred  yards  away 
I  saw  a  dozen  or  more  Indians  on  horse-back  and 
coming  like  as  if  his  Satanic  Majesty  was  im- 
mediately in  the  rear.  My  hair  at  once  sought 
safety  by  attempting  to  take  flight,  but  we  had 
been  companions  too  long  to  part  so  easily.  I  had 
heard  that  Indians  always  went  scalp  hunting  in 
this  fashion,  handing  out  their  war  whoops  to  ter- 
rify their  victims ;  it  was  having  great  results  in 
my  case.  I  didn't  know^  what  to  do  as  I  had  no 
place  to  run  to  and  was  not  feeling  well  enough  to 
fight.  I  presently  gathered  up  enough  of  my  scat- 
tered wits  to  remember  something ;  over  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  room  was  a  40-65  Winchester,  which 
was  indifferently  leaning  against  the  wall.  I  lost 
no  time  in  gathering  the  hardware  to  "my  wildly 
beating  heart''  as  the  movies  would  say.  How- 
ever, I  wasn't  certain  that  they  had  committed 
the  *'overt  act"  and  I  did  not  wish  to  precipitate 
matters  so  I  decided  on  a  watchful,  waiting  game. 
I  was  on  perfect  speaking  terms  with  that  Win- 
chester, as  I  had  shortly  before  shot  an  antelope 
through  the  heart,  off  hand  at  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  yards,  but  on  that  occasion  my  general 
condition  had  been  much  better  and  I  was  not 
having  this  trouble  with  my  hair. 

All  of  these  things  happened  'practically  imme- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  31 

diately''  and  the  enemy  was  upon  me.  No  doubt 
I  presented  a  very  heroic  figure,  as  I  stood  there 
with  an  uncommonly  white  face  and  a  guilty  look, 
possibly.  The  Indians  appeared  to  find  something 
amusing  in  the  atmosphere,  or  perhaps  their  sense 
of  humor  was  greater  than  mine  for  they  were 
grinning  when  they  pulled  up  their  ponies  with  a 
grand  flourish.  It  developed  that  they  had  been 
trying  out  the  speed  of  their  ponies  for  their 
own  satisfaction,  certainly  not  for  mine. 

They  tried  to  make  speech  with  the  ''statue  of 
liberty''  by  passing  out  many  grunts  and  signs, 
but  I  was  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  so  replied  ''No 
sabe."  Finding  that  my  sense  of  hearing  and 
speech  was  again  in  working  order  they  tried 
me  in  Spanish  as  nearly  all  the  Indians  speak 
this  language,  as  in  fact  do  most  people  who  have 
lived  in  the  land  of  "manana.''  They  finally  man- 
aged to  convey  the  big  idea  that  they  were  on  a 
still  hunt  after  tobacco,  sugar,  coffee  or  anything 
with  a  kick  to  it;  that  may  be  the  reason  why 
they  are  so  foolishly  fond  of  "firewater.''  The 
tame  Indian  is  the  most  brazen  beggar  in  the 
v/orld,  and  it  developed  that  these  were  tame. 
When  I  regained  my  sense  of  sight  I  discovered 
that  many  of  them  had  their  fangs  drawn,  possibly 
by  Father  Time.     They  didn't  look  good  to  me, 


32  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

however,  and  not  to  be  caught  asleep  at  the  switch 
I  maintained  my  graceful  position,  while  I  made 
known  the  fact  that  it  would  be  most  displeasing 
to  my  dignity  for  any  of  them  to  enter  the  yard. 
After  killing  some  more  or  less  valuable  time,  of 
which  they  appeared  to  have  an  unlimited  supply, 
and  it  really  seemed  ages  to  me,  the  wagon  from 
town  pulled  around  the  corral.  Oh  joy !  Oh  Jona- 
than! I  felt  as  though  I  had  brought  up  an 
alligator  or  something  equally  distressing.  To 
preserve  peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men, 
ourselves  in  particular,  the  folks  passed  out  the 
tribute  and  the  ''piece  conference''  was  at  an  end. 
I  have  been  slightly  gray  about  the  temples  ever 
since  that  session. 

My  father  told  me  that  it  was  quite  customary 
and  good  form  to  build  up  a  good  fire  in  camp 
at  night,  and  then  take  the  bedding  and  retire  to 
some  nearby  bunch  of  trees  or  brush.  This  was 
by  way  of  protection  from  a  surprise  party,  as  it 
was  no  easy  matter  to  crawl  up  on  a  hunter,  whose 
sleep  was  of  a  necessity,  what  might  be  termed 
in  the  "hair  trigger  class.''  It  was  much  healthier 
to  be  a  light  sleeper.  Ye  hunter  must  have  been 
more  careless  at  other  times,  however,  in  proof 
of  this  observation  I  will  quote  from  one  of  my 
fathci's  reminiscences.    He  said: 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  33 

'*I  was  in  camp  on  the  Tongue  River,  in  the 
Devil  Mountain  Fork  country,  and  was  getting 
breakfast  one  morning  all  the  other  men  being 
out  after  the  horses.  I  remember  that  I  was  bend- 
ing over  the  ''dutch  oven''  turning  the  frying  meat, 
when  suddenly  a  voice  just  behind  me  said  "How, 
John."  Now  my  name  wasn't  John  and  I  had 
no  reason  to  butt  in,  but  looking  over  my  shoulder 
I  saw  about  ten  feet  away  the  biggest,  dirtiest, 
ugliest  Indian  I  had  ever  beheld.  My  loaded 
Sharp's  rifle  was  leaning  against  a  wagon  wheel 
and  beyond  the  fire,  some  twenty  feet  away.  I 
cleared  the  fire  and  covered  the  distance  in  about 
two  leaps,  snatched  up  my  gun  and  wheeled  ready 
for  business.  I  found  his  nibs,  Man-afraid-to- 
wash,  holding  up  one  hand,  palm  outv/ard,  as  with 
a  slight  grin  he  proclaimed,  "Me  good  Injun."  He 
certainly  didn't  look  the  part,  but  as  he  had  omit- 
ted to  knock  me  in  the  head  when  he  had  every 
opportunity,  I  couldn't  argue  the  point  with  him. 
With  many  preliminary  grunts  and  false  starts 
and  with  many  signs  and  elaborate  drawings  on 
the  ground,  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  he 
was  looking  for  horses.  I  replied,  "Yes,  me  no 
see  um."  I  didn't  know  just  what  he  had  up  his 
arm  (he  had  no  sleeve)  so  I  passed  him  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  after  he  had  gulped  it  down  I  gave 


34  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

him  to  understand  that  his  presence  was  *'ne  coko 
domo/'  He  gravely  stalked  away  and  I  ran  to 
the  top  of  a  small  knoll  to  the  rear  of  our  camp  to 
have  a  *'look-see."  I  saw  the  main  band  passing 
doAvn  into  a  ravine  about  a  mile  away,  and  they 
moved  as  though  they  had  pressing  business  fur- 
ther along  the  line.  This  single  warrior  had  no 
doubt  been  appointed  a  committee  of  one  to  inves- 
tigate the  column  of  smoke  which  must  have  been 
rising  from  our  camp  fire.  The  fact  that  he  must 
have  reasoned  that  I  would  not  be  alone  in  the 
wilderness,  and  that  he  couldn't  just  figure  out 
where  the  others  were  probably  saved  my  life. 
My  eyesight  was  very  keen  in  those  days,  and  I 
had  just  a  minute  before,  so  it  seemed  to  me, 
raised  up  and  looked  all  around  me  as  was  the 
buffalo  hunter's  most  common  practice.  It  had 
been  discovered  that  men  would  live  longer  by 
so  doing.  On  this  occasion  I  must  have  been 
frying  meat  longer  than  I  thought,  and  the  com- 
bination of  the  Indian  'moccasins'  and  general 
cleverness  was  hard  to  beat  on  the  'pussy  foot' 
game  at  any  time." 

Now  I  am  wondering  if  perhaps  my  father's 
hair  stood  on  end  for  just  a  minute  or  so,  as 
visions  of  death  by  tortue  flashed  before  his  eyes. 
It  may  be  that  I  inherited  my  unruly  locks. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  35 

In  speaking  of  another  incident  he  said,  ''One 
day  when  hunting  had  been  bad  for  some  time 
I  was  out  on  foot  and  traveling  across  a  strip  of 
level  country  with  rough  ravines  on  either  side 
at  a  distance  of  perhaps  two  miles  away.  I  was 
making  for  the  head  of  one  of  these  canyons, 
hoping  to  find  some  deer  shooting  there  as  we 
were  out  of  fresh  meat.  I  presently  made  out  a 
number  of  objects  at  some  distance,  which  I  soon 
discovered  to  be  Indians  mounted  on  ponies  and 
moving  so  as  to  head  m.e  off  from  the  canyon; 
no  doubt  the  idea  was  to  settle  my  case  out  in 
the  open  country.  They  probably  thought  that 
they  had  me,  and  if  I  had  become  panic  stricken 
and  tried  to  run  my  hair  would  have  soon  been 
adorning  some  brave's  tepee.  I  saw  at  once  what 
I  was  up  against  and  realizing  that  I  could  not 
possibly  make  the  shelter  of  the  rough  places,  I 
seated  myself  upon  the  ground  and  placed  my 
'rest  sticks'  in  position  for  some  close  shooting. 

(Rest  sticks  were  two  selected  sticks  of  some 
light  but  strong  wood,  which  were  tied  loosely 
near  one  e:^d  and  when  opened  out  after  the 
fashion  of  shears  they  formed  an  ideal  rest  for 
a  rifle  which  weighed  some  twenty-two  pounds. 
This  was  especially  desirable  when  shooting  stead- 
ily for  some  time  at  a  herd  of  buflfalo,  when  accur- 


36  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

acy  was  desirable,  as  even  one  wounded  animal 
would  sometimes  stampede  the  entire  herd.) 

There  had  been  a  number  of  hunters  killed  in 
the  vicinity  where  I  was  hunting  as  the  Indians 
coveted  the  good  accurate  shooting  rifles  with 
which  the  buffalo  hunters  were  armed,  and  no 
doubt  they  had  a  special  grievance  against  us. 
I  made  out  ten  Indians  by  now,  coming  directly 
toward  me  in  single  file.  Making  sure  that  ''Old 
Reliable''  was  ready  for  instant  service,  I  was 
tempted  to  see  how  many  of  the  line  I  could  kill 
at  one  shot,  but  up  to  this  time  I  had  never  killed 
an  Indian,  so  I  was  inclined  to  give  them  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt.  Taking  off  my  hat  I  waved 
for  them  to  go  around  me,  giving  them  to  under- 
stand that  I  didn't  care  to  make  their  acquaint- 
ance at  close  quarters.  After  a  brief  parley  among 
themselves  they  swung  off  the  course  and  passed 
at  a  distance  of  some  three  hundred  yards.  I 
could  have  easily  killed  the  entire  band  and  have 
always  regretted  that  I  did  not,  as  they  killed 
two  hunters  that  evening  not  many  miles  away 
from  my  neighborhood.  I  am  sure  it  was  this 
same  bunch,  as  the  outfit's  cook,  who  escaped, 
afterward  told  me  that  he  counted  ten  Indians 
in  the  band. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  37 

There  was  at  this  time  a  frontier  post  or  fort 
out  in  this  wild  country.  It  was  really  more  of  a 
supply  station  for  hunters  and  a  place  of  refuge 
to  which  the  few  white  people  could  turn  when 
the  Indians  were  out  on  the  war-path.  The  build- 
ing was  made  of  the  article  popularly  known  as 
the  ''adobe''  and  the  outpost  was  known  as  the 
''Dobe  Walls.'' 

A  great  band  of  Commanches  undertook  at  one 
time  to  wipe  this  place  off  the  map  but  unfortun- 
ately for  them  they  made  their  attack  at  a  time 
when  there  were  a  number  of  buffalo  hunters 
sheltered  there.  Among  the  hunters  was  Billy 
Dixon,  a  crack  shot  and  a  man  to  whom  the  word 
fear  was  unknown. 

The  Indians  started  the  ball  at  their  usual  time, 
just  about  daybreak,  as  it  is  a  well  known  fact 
that  we  sleep  soundest  at  that  time.  The  Indians 
were  no  doubt  wise  to  this  ''slumberous"  fact;  I 
can  think  of  no  other  good  and  sufficient  reason 
why  they  should  pull  off  their  surprise  parties  at 
such  an  unseemly  hour.  On  this  occasion  there 
was  a  negro  sleeping  just  outside  the  walls  in  a 
wagon  as  it  was  summer  and  very  hot  inside  the 
adobe  fortress.  The  Indians  killed  the  negro 
but  not  before  he  had  raised  the  alarm  and  the 
fight  was  on.     The  "Redskins"  soon  discovered 


38  DAYS  THAT  ARE  DONE 

that  they  had  gotten  into  the  wrong  pew,  after 
a  number  of  their  braves  had  been  killed  outright, 
while  they  were  able  to  do  but  little  damage  in 
return.  The  Indian  is  no  fool ;  he  will  often  tamper 
with  the  buzz-saw  but  he  wants  it  to  be  idle  when 
he  dees  it 

The  hunters  inside  actually  shot  a  particularly 
energetic  Indian  off  the  roof  over  the  kitchen, 
where  he  was  industriously  digging  a  hole  in  the 
dirt  roof  in  order  to  get  a  pot  shot  at  the  men 
below.  Nearly  every  time  one  of  the  heavy  Sharps 
would  crack  some  brave  would  get  a  through  ticke 
to  the  happy  hunting  gix)und,  and  as  this  was  not 
on  the  program,  the  Indians  soon  drew  back  over 
a  nearby  ridge  to  *^ake  medicine"  or  devise  means 
of  getting  at  the  hunters.  They  were  having 
a  big  war  dance  and  gereral  pow-wow,  bj^  the 
sounds  when  Dixon  climbed  up  on  one  of  the 
walls  and  remarked,  "I'll  just  send  them  my  com- 
pliments," and  elevating  his  rifle  he  pulled  the 
trigger.  After  about  half  a  minute  the  pow-wow 
broke  up  in  great  confusion,  and  then  all  was 
still  as  death.  After  waiting  a  couple  of  hours 
and  rot  hearing  further  from  the  meeting  of  the 
red  brotherhood,  several  of  the  boys  rode  out  as 
scouts  to  look  into  the  long  silence.  They  found 
the  little  ravine  deserted,  with  not  an  Indian  in 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  39 

sight.  It  afterward  developed  that  Dixon's  chance 
shot  was  a  lucky  one,  as  the  heavy  bullet  had 
struck  a  brave  squarely  between  the  eyes,  and 
the  warriors  could  not  stand  that  as  they  had  no 
doubt  thought  themselves  safe  from  the  dreaded 
rifles.  A  couple  of  years  later  an  Indian  who  was 
present  at  the  fight  was  telling  of  it  and  he  said 
"Shoot  um  today;  kill  um  tomorrow/' 

When  out  hunting  I  always  wore  two  double 
belts  filled  with  cartridges  to  the  number  of  three 
hundred  or  thereabout.  The  cartridges  in  one 
of  these  belts  I  never  used  for  ordinary  purposes, 
such  as  shooting  at  buffalo  or  wolves,  but  reserved 
them  for  the  entertainment  of  the  Commanches. 
Many  hunters  had  been  killed  through  careless- 
ness, by  shooting  their  last  cartridge  in  the  excite- 
ment of  trying  to  kill  all  the  buffalo  in  sight.  The 
Indians  would  watch  him  from  some  far  hiding 
place  and  when  the  shooting  ceased  would  come 
up  on  the  hunter.  If  he  was  fortunate  he  would 
be  killed  outright,  but  if  he  was  reserved  for  tor- 
ture he  was  indeed  playing  in  hard  luck,  as  the 
Commanches  were  most  ingenious  and  could  devise 
some  most  devilish  forms  of  torture.  One  of 
their  favorite  pastimes  was  to  take  a  sharp  knife 
and  gently  slice  the  skin  or  sole  off  the  bottom 
of  their  victims'  feet  and  then  compel  them  to 


40  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

walk  over  the  grass,  rocks  and  sticks  which  might 
be  handy.  Tying  and  leaving  a  luckless  hunter  to 
die  in  a  nest  of  infuriated  ants  was  another  little 
pleasantry  of  theirs.  ,  I  didn't  approve  of  either 
custom  or  anything  else  which  they  might  think 
of  and  was  fully  determined  not  to  be  taken  alive. 
I  preferred  to  be  like  the  story  which  an  old 
hunter  told  me  shortly  after  I  went  on  the  buffalo 
range.  He  said  that  once  while  out  hunting,  a 
band  of  Indians  who  were  on  the  war-path  had 
seen  him  and  immediately  started  for  him.  This 
was  out  in  the  open  country  where  he  had  no 
chance  to  make  a  stand,  so  he  at  once  made  for 
shelter  in  a  nearby  canyon,  which  looked  to  be 
rough.  He  rode  hurriedly  down  into  the  gorge, 
with  an  occasional  bullet  kicking  up  the  dirt  near 
while  the  war  whoops  sounded  uncomfortably 
close.  Upon  reaching  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
he  looked  on  both  sides  for  a  place  where  he  could 
hope  to  make  some  resistance  against  the  odds 
which  were  against  him,  but  seeing  no  such  place 
he  rode  at  full  speed  up  the  canyon  with  the 
Indians  not  far  behind.  He  told  me  that  the  fur- 
ther he  went  up  toward  the  head  of  the  gorge  that 
the  steeper  the  sides  became  and  that  finally  he 
rode  into  a  "box  canyon''  with  no  way  out  except 
back  the  way  he  had  come  and  that  was  filled 
with  Commanches,  thirsty  for  his  blood.    The  foxy 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  41 

old  hunter  paused  at  this  point  to  fill  his  pipe,  and 
as  he  did  not  resume  his  story  to  relieve  my 
suspense,  I  incautiously  inquired  ''And  what  hap- 
pened then?''  He  sadly  answered,  ''Well,  they 
killed  me/'  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that 
he  was  exaggerating,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  wanted 
to  kill  him,  forthwith." 

From  general  observation  and  statistics,  we 
know  that  the  Indian  is  very  much  on  the  decline. 
The  Eastern  tribes,  the  Iriquois,  Mohawks,  and 
many  other  tribes  have  entirely  vanished,  while 
in  the  middle  West  the  Cherokees  and  Wyandottes 
are  rapidly  disappearing.  Here  are  also  found 
the  Kiowas,  Commanches,  Modocs,  and  other 
tribes  of  more  or  less  prominence.  In  the  far 
West  we  have  the  Apaches,  Navajos,  Mohaves  and 
many  other  tribes,  while  the  North  and  South 
have  their  tribes.  In  traveling  through  Oklahoma, 
the  evidences  of  inter-marriage  are  quite  common, 
and  "very  satisfactory,"  apparently.  However, 
there  are  a  number  of  tribes  that  will  require 
some  renovation  before  our  people  will  take  much 
stock  in  them.  In  this  class  would  be  found  the 
Navajos,  Piutes,  Seminoles  and  several  others. 
Beyond  doubt  the  Indian  has  been  of  some  service 
to  the  country,  and  while  he  formerly  retarded 
the  advancement  of  civilization,  he  is  making  some 
amends  at  this  late  day. 


THE  "HALF  CIRCLE  CROSS  RANc.H 
Magdalina  Mountains  in  the  distance 


The  Passing  of  the  Antelope 

HE  most  graceful  of  all  the  creatures, 
which  have  passed  from  our  Western 
country  into  the  ''yesterdays/'  is  the 
antelope.  With  its  beautiful  buff-and- 
white  markings  and  its  love  for  the 
solitude  of  the  great  plains,  it  is  not  closely  allied 
with  any  of  the  other  North  American  animals, 
the  nearest  perhaps  being  the  deer,  but  the  na- 
tures, customs,  and  general  habits  of  the  two 
animals  are  as  different  as  day  and  night. 

While  the  deer  is  generally  found  in  the  fast- 
ness of  some  deep,  dark  glen  except  when  feeding, 
where  the  trees  and  shadows  abound,  the  antelope 
will  almost  invariably  be  found  right  out  where 
the  sun  is  shining  brightest  and  where  he  can 
go  scurrying  away  for  the  distant  horizon  on  short 
notice.  While  the  deer  makes  his  ''get-away''  by 
a  series  of  tremendous,  awe-inspiring  leaps  and 
bounds,  well  suited  to  clear  bushes  and  boulders, 
of  ordinary  size,  the  antelope  advertises  his  depar- 
ture by  a  steady,  honest-to-goodness  run  as  a 
horse  runs,  and  without  any  frills  whatsoever. 
He  can  do  a  mile  in — something  "flat,"  I  have 


44  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

never  heard  of  their  actual  time  being  taken,  but 
they  make  a  fast  horse  appear  to  be  going  in  the 
other  direction. 

It  is  true,  we  had  stories  of  cow-boys  roping 
antelope,  which  might  happen  in  a  surprise  attack, 
or  in  the  case  of  one  being  severely  wounded,  but 
I  am  certain  that  it  never  happened  in  the  case  of 
full  grown,  able  bodied  antelope  in  a  straight-away 
chase  by  a  single  rider.  I  have  roped  young 
antelope  and  wounded  ones,  and  my  experience 
is  that  an  antelope  with  three  legs  still  in  com- 
mission, is  more  than  enough  for  the  ordinary 
cow-horse. 

Now  hold  your  hat.  *  *  *  One  morning  I  was 
riding  across  our  range,  looking  for  horses,  and 
as  it  was  almost  all  prairie,  one  could  see  for 
miles  in  all  directions.  Suddenly  a  young  antelope 
sprang  up  out  of  the  grass  where  its  mother  had 
concealed  it,  no  doubt,  as  their  peculiar  coloring 
made  concealment  an  easy  matter.  I  had  never 
"roped''  an  antelope,  other  than  wounded  ones, 
and  as  I  was  riding  ''Gold  Dust,"  he  of  the  dirt 
removing  qualities,  we  at  once  gave  chase.  The 
average  cow-pony  seemed  to  like  to  ''run''  anything 
and  would  follow  its  windings  like  a  hawk  after 
his  prey.  Uncoiling  my  rope  from  the  saddle 
horn,  I  made  ready  for  an  early  "throw"  at  that 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  45 

flying  streak  of  long  outstretched  neck  and  thin, 
white  legs.  There  was  very  little  body  in  evidence. 
The  surprise  was  ours,  we  in  the  rear,  or  the 
party  of  the  second  part.  We  didn't  pull  up  as 
promptly  as  was  customary  when  chasing  cattle. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  mile  or  so  our  gain  was 
nothing  to  ''brag''  of.  In  the  meantime  we  had 
been  traveling  some,  wind  singing  a  la  Caruso, 
while  cactus,  badger  and  prairie  dog  holes  flew 
toward  the  rear  as  though  sent  for.  Finally,  by 
taking  a  number  of  short  cuts,  and  by  carrying 
Gold  Dust  across  several  wash-outs  on  my  long- 
handled  spurs,  we  drew  up  on  our  quarry,  to  the 
great  relief  of  my  charger,  perhaps.  The  rest 
was  easy,  when  you  know  how,  and  the  holding 
was  easier,  as  there  was  very  little  resistance  in 
the  trembling,  lamb  like  creature  on  the  negative 
end  of  the  lariat.  However,  the  little  chap  had 
good  lungs  and  how  he  did  bleat!  Dismounting 
and  holding  the  rope  in  my  hands  I  drew  the 
shrinking  antelope  up  to  me  and  took  the  rope 
from  its  neck  which  seemed  too  delicate  for  any- 
thing so  coarse.  I  knelt  down  and  piit  my  arms 
around  the  little  body  to  prevent  any  sudden  leave 
taking,  while  I  admired  the  wonderful  markings 
and  coloring,  especially  on  the  neck;  however,  I 
doubt  if  that  admiration  society  was  mutual.    Gold 


46  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

Dust  stood  near  by,  puffing  like  a  Southern  Pacific 
mogul,  his  ears  cocked  forward  and  probably  won- 
dering what  manner  of  calf  that  could  be,  with 
the  distressing  voice. 

I  was  pretty  well  pleased  with  life  in  general 
those  days  and  as  I  sat  there  I  looked  about  me, 
pondering  on  the  ''how,  why  and  wherefore/' 
Through  the  crystal  clear  distance  I  could  see 
the  blue  Ladrone  Mountains,  and  to  the  East  the 
Lemitars;  across  the  plains  to  the  South  the 
purple  Magdalenas  towered  majestically,  while 
the  foot-hills  of  the  Bear  Mountains  were  only 
a  mile  or  so  away  at  my  back  and  looked  just 
ordinary  brown,  by  reason  of  their  nearness.  A 
great  plain,  entirely  surrounded  by  mountains  of 
blues,  purples  and  browns  while  overhead  a  sky 
of  real  blue  put  the  others  to  shame.  By  now  the 
antelope  was  readjusting  some  views  of  life,  per- 
haps, on  finding  that  I  did  not  eat  him  right  away 
as  he  was  flipping  first  one  ear,  then  the  other, 
while  he  stamped  his  feet  and  "sized''  us  up.  It 
was  customary  to  in  some  way  mark  the  ears  or 
put  some  distinguishing  mark  on  anything  so 
captured,  for  future  reference,  but  I  could  not  do 
that,  but  unclasped  my  arms  and  in  a  surprisingly 
short  time  the  little  fellow  melted  or  blended  into 
the  waving  brown  grass. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  47 

On  the  great  San  Augustine  Plains  in  New 
Mexico  there  were,  prior  to  1888,  thousands  of 
antelope  to  be  seen  at  all  times,  in  bands  of  a  few 
hundred  to  several  thousand.  They  were  much 
more  common  than  cattle.  During  the  Winter  of 
'88  there  came  an  unusual  snowfall  of  several  feet, 
and  as  the  feed  was  covered  deep  and  the  snow 
did  not  melt  rapidly,  the  antelope  as  well  as  cattle 
and  horses  perished  by  thousands. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  end  for  the  ante- 
lope, seemingly,  as  while  there  are  a  few  small 
bands  to  be  seen  in  certain  localities,  they  are 
very  few  and  will  soon  be  entirely  extinct,  except 
the  few  in  parks  and  game  preserves. 

I  remember  very  distinctly,  the  first  antelope 
I  killed,  which  was  when  I  was  thirteen.  I  was 
said  to  be  a  good  shot,  ''for  a  boy,"  but  this  killing 
of  the  prong-horn  may  have  been  an  accident, 
though  I  know  that  my  intentions  were  ''plumb 
fatal.''  This  was  a  lone  buck,  running  his  very 
best  at  125  yards  while  I  took  a  snap  shot  at  him 
off  hand  with  a  45-65  Winchester,  the  ball  passing 
through  him  from  his  "slats"  on  one  side,  striking 
his  heart  and  out  the  opposite  shoulder.  No,  I 
wouldn't  have  traded  places  with  Grover  Cleve- 
land just  then;  in  fact  I  have  always  been  a 
Republican,  anyway,  and  believe  in  letting  the 
tariff  strictly  alone. 


48  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

Since  that  time  I  have  killed  many  antelopes, 
but  that  wonderful  elation  has  been  somewhat 
lacking,  like  the  lines  in  the  old  school  book, 

'That  swelling  and  that  feeling  of  the  heart, 

You  ne'er  can  feel  again/' 

The  barbed-wire  fence  of  our  so-called  civiliza- 
tion was  one  of  the  antelope's  greatest  enemies, 
as  they  would  often  be  cut  almost  in  two  when 
traveling  at  express  speed  and  happening  to  col- 
lide with  a  three  or  four  wire  fence.  If  they  were 
fortunate  enough  to  strike  the  fence  squarely  they 
would  generally  break  through,  but  if  they  ran 
against  the  fence  ''slantingly"  the  barbs  on  the 
wire  would  cut  and  tear  into  their  flesh  like  a 
circular  saw  cutting  sugar  pine. 

It  is  said  that  great  minds  run  in  the  same  chan- 
nels,— I  wonder.  Now  for  example.  The  ante- 
lopes had  a  peculiarity  of  trying  to  pass  across  in 
front  of  you,  or  would  even  change  his  course  or 
line  of  travel  to  conform,  to  some  extent,  with 
yours.  Just  why  I  am  not  ready  to  explain.  Take 
their  very  name;  I  could  never  figure  out  why 
they  should  be  called  "antelope"  unless  we  should 
go  into  Latin,  or  poker,  and  take  the  word  "ante" 
meaning  before  and  "lope,"  to  just  fly.  At  any 
rate  they  were  generally  to  be  found  at  the  head 
of  the  class,  and  the  more  you  pressed  their  line 
of  flight  the  flatter  the  "trajectory"  became. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  49 

I  was  jogging  along  on  my  favorite  horse  one 
fine  day,  not  necessarily  in  June.  While  I  don't 
care  anything  about  crowned  heads  or  royalty, 
now  less  than  ever,  I  had  named  this  steed 
'Trince''  and  he  was  everything  the  name  implies, 
with  most  of  the  common  princely  short-comings 
cut  out. 

Prince  was  the  most  satisfying  horse  I  have 
ever  ridden,  and  I  am  told  that  I  have  ridden 
several,  quite  out  of  the  rocking-horse  class.  How- 
ever, this  is  not  shedding  enough  blood ;  now  hold 
your  bonnet  once  more.  As  I  rode  in  toward  the 
ranch  and  while  yet  several  miles  out  I  observed 
(I  beg  your  indulgence  for  using  the  'T'  so  much, 
but  there  was  really  no  one  else  present  to  "lay 
it  onto'')  a  band  of  antelope  standing  looking  at 
me,  from  some  800  yards  distance.  As  we  were 
out  of  fresh  meat  at  the  ranch  this  was  a  tempta- 
tion almost  equal  to  Eve  and  the  '^pippin."  I  knew 
it  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and  ammunition 
besides  quite  a  strain  on  my  rifle,  to  attempt  kill- 
ing one  at  that  distance,  as  they  were  mere  cream- 
colored  specks,  seemingly  suspended  in  mid-air. 
their  slender  legs  not  being  in  evidence.  As  they 
were  almost  in  my  line  of  march,  I  rode  anglingly, 
so  as  to  pass  them  at  some  200  yards,  with  their 
permission.     They  permitted  my  clumsy  pretext 


50  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

for  about  one  minute,  then  away  they,  sailed,  but 
as  usual  so  as  to  pass  in  front  of  me  though  at  a 
great  distance.  I  went  them  one  better,  let  Prince 
out  and  did  some  flying  myself,  and  at  almost 
right  angles  to  their  course,  which  was  subject  to 
change  without  notice.  But  I  did  notice  that  they 
couldn't  permit  me  to  do  anything  like  that,  as 
they  at  once  changed  their  line  of  flight  which 
was  just  what  I  expected.  Of  course  they  beat 
me  to  the  point  where  our  lines  would  form  a 
junction,  but  only  by  a  scant  hundred  yards.  I 
quickly  stopped  Prince,  sprang  to  the  ground  yank- 
ing my  rifle,  a  35-250  cal.  Winchester  from  the 
scabbard  as  I  did  so.  The  velocity  of  this  gun's 
projectiles  was  considerable,  enough  to  overtake 
an  antelope  anyway,  or  in  technical  terms  the  bul- 
let was  said  to  ramble  along  at  some  2500  feet 
per  second.  At  the  first  shot  the  leader,  a  vener- 
able buck,  lost  step,  threw  up  his  head  and  crashed 
to  the  ground  in  a  rolling  heap,  while  the  remain- 
der rushed  onward.  My  second  shot  was  a  beau- 
tiful miss,  tearing  up  some  perfectly  good  sod  over 
and  far  beyond.  Realizing  that  "opportunity" 
wouldn't  be  with  me  all  day  but  would  soon  be 
in  the  next  township,  I  settled  down  to  my  "knit- 
ting," brought  the  ivory  front  sight  down  to  just 
in  front  of  the  vice-president,  and  pulled  the  trig- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  51 

ger.  Almost  instantly  there  was  a  dull  thud, 
something  like  striking  a  pillow  with  your 
clenched  fist,  if  you  ever  do  anything  so  cowardly ; 
some  do,  some  don't. 

Antelope  number  two  plowed  up  the  soil  much 
as  the  other  had  done  while  the  air  was  filled 
with  brick-colored  hair.  The  antelope's  hair  is 
very  coarse  almost  like  grass,  and  comes  out  read- 
ily, literally  by  handfuls. 

At  another  time  I  had  shot  and  wounded  a  great 
buck,  and  after  watching  him  lie  down,  I  rode 
into  the  ranch  for  a  pack-horse,  thinking  to  find 
the  antelope  dead  on  my  return.  My  nephew 
asked  to  go  back  with  me,  so  we  put  a  pack-saddle 
on  a  gentle  horse,  Leland  saddled  up  a  horse  for 
himself  and  we  were  off.  Riding  up  near  where 
the  ''dead''  antelopes  were  we  were  somewhat  sur- 
prised to  see  one  rise  stiffly  from  the  ground,  and 
go  slowly  loping  away.  I  told  the  boy  that  I- 
would  just  rope  ''that  party,"  so  we  tied  our  pack- 
horse  to  a  convenient  soap-weed,  I  took  down  my 
cable  and  the  neck-tie  party  was  on,  as  we  thought. 
However,  before  we  got  in  roping  distance  our 
horses  were  completely  "winded"  while  that  buck 
continued  to  lope  along  in  front.  Leland,  being 
much  lighter,  had  ridden  closer  to  the  prong-horn 
than  I  could  get,  but  I  saw  it  was  no  use  30  drew 

} 


52  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

up  short  and  at  the  crack  of  the  rifle  the  antelope 
suddenly  put  on  more  steam,  then  rolled  along  the 
ground.  As  I  came  walking  up,  quite  well  pleased 
with  my  "deadly  eye''  Leland  said,  ''Say,  Uncle 
Will,  you  look  a  little  out.  That  bullet  whistled 
right  by  my  ear." 

That  buck's  noble  head  now  adorns  our  living 
room,  another  of  our  barbaric,  civilized  customs. 
As  I  look  up  at  his  soft  dark  eyes,  the  taxiderm- 
ists' best  effort  I  suspect,  I  can  fancy  there  is  some 
reproach  there,  or  he  seems  to  be  looking  across 
his  beloved  plains  which  he  will  see  no  more,  but 
we  may  be  in  the  same  boat  on  that. 

Without  doubt,  the  antelope  was  the  most  un- 
assuming of  all  animals,  lacking  the  aggression 
one  would  expect  to  find  when  they  were  put  upon 
the  defensive.  They  made  less  show  of  resistance 
than  some  Belgian  hares,  so  it  really  sounds  rather 
hollow  and  empty  to  even  mention  killing  such 
harmless  creatures,  but  they  were  fair  eating  and 
would  sustain  life  for  quite  a  while.  Even  though 
I  am  now  living  in  sunny,  Southern  California,  I 
would  say  in  the  words  of  the  poet, 

''Give  me  a  home  where  the  buffalo  roam. 

Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play." 


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The  Passing  of  the  Great  Trail  Herd 

J  MILD  form  of  epidemic  has  struck  the 
country  in  the  way  of  pen  efforts  to 
portray  the  passing  beyond  the  horizon 
of  things  of  common  interest  to  all, 
from  the  buffalo  to  the  wild  pigeon.  As 
I  am  a  believer  in  the  middle  course  I  select  as 
my  subject  that  almost  extinct  animal,  the  cow- 
boy. Please  do  not  misunderstand  me;  by  ''cow- 
boy'' I  mean  the  real  18  karat.  Simon-pure  article. 
I  do  not  refer  in  any  wise  to  the  ''movie  article'' — • 
the  "Spring  Street"  or  "Broadway  cowpunchers," 
with  due  apologies  to  Tom  Mix,  W.  S.  Hart  and 
a  few  others  now  engaged  in  the  making  of  mov- 
ing pictures,  who  are  the  "clear  quill."  The  imi- 
tation leather  puncher  from  away  back  in  Missouri 
or  Arkansas  is  the  chap  who  gives  me  that  tired 
feeling.  When  one  of  these  fellows  receives  an 
accidental  kick,  while  feeding  the  family  cow,  he 
feels  that  at  last  he  is  a  real  cowboy  and  must 
go  West  and  show  them  just  how  it  should  be 
done.  To  the  delight  of  an  audience  of  "hay-mak- 
ing" friends  he  demonstrates  the  fine  points  of 
the  profession,  using  as  his  aid  some  sleepy  old 


56  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

nag  generaily  used  on  the  milk  route  but  promoted 
with  great  honor  for  this  occasion.  ''Alkali  Pete'' 
generally  mounts  his  fiery  steed  from  the  wrong 
side,  the  same  being  the  right  side,  of  the  suffering 
horse.  He  does  this  wonderful  stunt  without  ever 
touching  the  reins  or  "lines''  as  he  would  call 
them.  Verily,  the  mighty  is  due  to  connect  with 
some  awful  tumbles  when  he  reaches  the  land  of 
''manana,"  by  the  silvery  Rio  Grande,  in  the  land 
of  the  black  gramma. 

With  your  kind  indulgence  I  will  attempt  to 
tell  you  how  it  used  to  be  done  some  twenty 
years  ago.  I  say  ''doen"  advisedly,  as  while 
perhaps  I  don't  know  so  much  about  it,  I  once 
had  a  dear  old  aunt  who  did. 

In  using  the  terms  ''trail"  and  ''trail-herd"  I 
would  explain  that  in  the  old  days  railroads 
were  not  so  common  as  now  and  as  a  natural 
consequence,  freight  rates  were  a  great  deal 
higher.  (I  recall  that  our  old  rate  from  Magda- 
lena.  New  Mexico  to  Kansas  City  was  $110.00 
per  thirty-six  foot  car,  the  larger  cars  being 
unknown  at  that  time.  This  charge  did  not  in- 
clude the  two  feedings  enroute.)  As  a  result 
m^any  raisers  or  speculators  made  a  practice  of 
driving  or  "trailing"  their  herds  across  the 
country.     This  generally  took   weary  months, 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  57 

depending  of  course  on  the  destination  and  the 
ability  and  general  condition  of  the  men,  horses, 
cattle  and  the  grass  and  water  were  to  be  con- 
sidered. These  were  the  main  ingredients  and 
when  well  mixed  and  taken  according  to  direc- 
tions they  made  a  m.ost  pleasing  combination  to 
the  owner. 

In  the  fall  of  1895  my  father  contracted  for 
two  thousand  head  of  Mexican  steers  through 
Taylor  &  Brown,  live  stock  brokers  of  El  Paso. 
They  located  and  bought  the  cattle  for  us  in 
the  State  of  Chihuahua,  Mexico.  In  December 
we  took  our  outfit  down  to  Deming,  New  Mex- 
ico, to  receive  the  herd,  which  was  a  sight  to 
gladden  the  soul  of  an  artist.  Those  steers  were 
all  shapes  and  sizes  and  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  from  beautiful  blues  and  slate  colors 
to  equally  beautiful  duns,  jersey  creams  and 
browns  with  bay  points.  Ages  from  one  to 
twenty-one  and  with  horns  from  a  foot  to  a  yard 
in  length.  These  cattle  cost  us  from  $6.00  to 
$10.00  per  head,  horns  thrown  in,  and  they 
were  worth  it,  as  we  later  sold  them  in  Northern 
Texas  for  $18.50  and  no  extra  charge  for  the 
horns. 

Upon  tallying  out  the  steers  we  discovered 
that  the  Mexican  is  a  ''strong  counter''  and  that 


58  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

instead  of  the  contract  number  we  had  twenty- 
seven  hundred  head.  After  looking  at  the  fear- 
ful and  wonderful  colorings  again  we  hadn't 
the  heart  to  spoil  the  blends  and  combinations, 
so  took  all  of  them. 

Placing  the  cattle  in  the  Deming  railroad 
yards,  we  immediately  got  busy  engraving  our 
monogram  on  the  steers'  ribs  or  just  anywhere 
we  could  find  a  spot  not  already  inscribed.  Most 
of  those  Mexican  brands  were  real  nightmares 
and  looked  very  much  like  the  line  of  the  Mex- 
ican Central,  which  runs  from  El  Paso  to  Mexico 
City.  Our  trade  mark  was  a  ''half  circle  cross'' 
which  we  preferred  to  place  on  the  left  side, 
about  midway  between  the  North  and  South 
poles.  After  several  days  of  hard  work  we 
finally  got  them  all  properly  labelled  and  were 
ready  to  set  sail,  and  even  the  steers  seemed  will- 
ing as  they  stepped  bravely  forth  never  to  re- 
turn. 

In  December  the  New  Mexican  climate  gets 
quite  breezy  and  exhilirating  as  the  altitude 
ranges  from  four  to  seven  thousand  feet  above 
warm  weather.  Our  first  bit  of  ''fun"  came 
at  the  point  where  we  had  to  ford  (No ;  no  rela- 
tion) the  Rio  Grande  or  in  plain  English,  the 
"Big  River".     Some  particularly  reckless  poet 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  59 

has  referred  to  this  stream  as  "the  silvery  Rio 
Grande''.  I  would  say  for  his  benefit  that  mud 
and  silver  do  not  make  a  pleasing  combination. 
It  is  an  absolute  fact  that  you  can  dip  up  a  pail- 
ful of  the  article  which  slides  between  the  banks, 
leave  it  stand  for  a  couple  of  hours  and  draw- 
off  equal  parts  of  water  and  sediment  or  just 
mud.  I  have  done  that  same  thing  many  times 
but  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  the  ''silver'' 
always  got  by  me ;  just  a  different  point  of  view, 
no  doubt,  but  I  earnestly  yearned  for  the  pres- 
ence of  that  poet.  Our  'Vaqueros"  called  the 
stream  the  ''Big  Muddy",  with  many  embellish- 
ments, before  we  got  the  last  of  the  steers 
across.  The  Rio  Grande  has  a  large  reputation 
for  quicksand,  deep  holes,  floating  trees  and  in 
season,  from  November  to  May,  ice  is  furnished 
in  large  chunks  to  visitors.  Woe  to  the  thought- 
less or  reckless  puncher  who  ventured  in  clad 
in  full  regalia  i.  e.  boots  and  spurs,  leggins,  six- 
shooter,  belt  and  cartridges.  If  once  separated 
from  his  horse  it  was  very  likely  that  there 
would  be  a  vacancy  in  the  "happy  family". 

After  many  incidents  more  or  less  interesting 
and  exciting,  we  were  all  across  and  in  "the 
promised  land,"  which  was  in  this  case  Dona 
Ana  County.     As  some  of  the  cattle  were  not 


60  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

very  strong,  which  did  not  speak  well  for  our 
exercise-and-cold-bath  treatment  and  as  the 
weather  was  very  bad,  we  made  arrangements 
to  stop  near  Engle,  New  Mexico,  for  a  month  or 
two,  and  pitched  our  tent  near  a  great  lake  of 
rain-water.  The  range  surrounding  was  en- 
closed by  what  had  once  been  a  wire  fence, 
and  covering  part  of  what  was  known  as  the 
Waddingham  Grant.  Both  the  ''grant"  and  the 
fences  were  in  a  sad  way  at  this  time  for  want 
of  some  one  with  energy  enough  to  keep 
them  up. 

Our  duties  now  were  simply  a  matter  of 
watching  our  charges  to  keep  their  feet  from 
wandering  from  the  paths  that  led  to  and  from 
the  lake.  It  was  a  most  inspiring  sight  on  one 
of  our  very  rare,  warm  mornings  to  see  our 
parishioners  trailing  solemnly  in  to  take  on 
water  at  our  fountain  of  youth.  They  would 
roll  in  from  all  points  of  the  compass,  following 
the  trails  and  strung  out  in  Indian  file.  At  a 
distance  they  looked  like  miniature  freight 
trains,  and  quite  a  mixed  train  at  that,  as  some 
looked  like  Barnes'  circus  cars  while  others 
might  ''pass''  as  funeral  cars  and  done  in  deep- 
est black. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  61 

After  partaking  of  our  hospitality  to  the  ex- 
tent of  six  or  eight  gallons,  certain  of  the 
stronger  steers  would  get  to  feeling  quite  pug- 
nacious, after  the  manner  of  some  men  when 
they  have  been  looking  upon  the  ''drink/'  How- 
ever, this  was  all  good  natured  and  after  raking 
a  few  hairs  from  his  comrades'  ribs  ye  warrior 
would  hike  for  the  salt  lick,  or  he  might,  for 
diversion,  test  the  strength  of  his  neck  and 
horns  in  trying  to  twist  down  some  particularly 
promising  soap-weed. 

After  about  two  months  of  this  butterfly  life, 
the  weather  improved  and  the  steers  became 
stronger  so  we  rounded  up  and  on  the  15th 
of  March,  1896,  were  ready  to  head  North. 

It  was  on  the  last  night  before  we  started 
that  I  experienced  my  first  stampede. 

The  steers  had  been  very  restless  all  evening 
at  being  restrained  from  roaming  at  will  over 
their  range;  they  couldn't  seem  to  realize  that 
this  was  another  case  like  Longfellow's  immor- 
tal ''Exile  of  the  Arcadians"  and  they  were  not 
inclined  to  suffer  our  interference.  There  were 
three  of  us  on  first  guard,  a  post  to  which  I  was 
assigned  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  I  was 
the  junior  member  of  the  happy  band.  I  recall 
that  it  was  shortly  before  midnight  when  sud- 


62  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

denly  the  air  was  filled  with  a  roar  and  tremor 
equal  to  that  caused  by  the  passing  near  of  a 
heavy  freight  train.  Even  the  ground  seemed 
to  be  vibrating  and  trembling ;  I  know  that  I  was, 
and  think  I  can  speak  for  my  horse.  Of  course 
I  knew  what  was  coming  and  so  did  that  wise 
wild  cow  pony,  a  veteran  of  many  stampedes.  I 
had  often  heard  the  boys  telling  of  their  experi- 
ence when  '*the  whole  herd  just  got  up  and  flew, 
right  now''  but  this  was  my  initiation  to  the 
pleasure  and  mysteries  of  this  rank  in  the  cow 
punching  science.  Those  who  are  'Veil  in- 
formed'' along  this  line  tell  me  that  in  case  the 
herd  comes  your  way  that  there  is  nothing  to  do 
but  ride  like  the  very  ''old  scratch"  was  after 
you,  trusting  to  Providence  and  luck  to  keep 
your  horse  out  of  prairie  dog,  badger  and  rat 
dens,  fallen  logs,  washouts  and  many  other 
things  which  seem  to  get  in  a  puncher's  way 
when  he  is  in  a  real  hurry.  My  half  brother, 
Albert  Steele,  and  my  guardian  angel  after  our 
mother  died  when  I  was  seven  years  of  age, 
dashed  by  and  yelled  "Lets  go,  kid."  I  heard 
him  the  very  first  time  and  we  rode  madly  to 
the  outer  edge  of  the  sea  of  tossing  Mexican 
sabres,  "from  a  foot  to  a  yard  in  length,"  or 
was  it  two  yards?  Well,  never  mind.  After 
getting  on  the  outside  of  the  flying  steers  it  was 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  63 

an  easy  matter  to  ride  up  beside  the  leaders  and 
gradually  swing  them  about  in  a  wide  sweep 
and  finally  let  them  have  their  run  out  in  **mill- 
ing''  or  running  around  in  a  huge  circle.  Each 
animal  appears  to  think  that  the  other  fellow 
is  going  in  the  right  direction  to  get  away  and 
they  follow  his  lead  without  question,  at  least 
I  don't  think  any  are  asked.  During  one  of 
these  wild  bursts  of  speed  the  cattle  seem  to 
become  panic  stricken,  as  our  own  kind  will 
when  someone  foolishly  yells  'Tire.''  Cattle  are 
almost  as  unreasonable  as  people  and  will  run 
over  anything  which  happens  to  be  handy,  from 
a  fence  to  a  cow  puncher.  Since  that  time  I 
have  been  in  many  serious  stampedes,  but  they 
were  not  appreciated  like  that  first;  I  know  I 
remembered  very  distinctly  all  the  unrighteous 
things  I  had  ever,  at  any  time,  been  guilty  of. 

Next  morning  I  expanded  several  inches  when 
the  boys  in  speaking  of  the  stampede  in  my  hear- 
ing said,  *'Billy  rode  to  them  like  an  old  timer." 
I  felt  that  I  had  very  little  more  to  learn.  That 
'"highbrow"  who  spoke  of  ignorance  being  bliss 
really  said  something. 

On  the  next  morning  we  started  North, 
headed  for  the  headquarters  ranch  near  Mag- 
dalena  and  about  one  hundred  miles  away.   The 


64  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

third  night  out  the  herd  ran  again  just  before 
daybreak.  This  was  brought  about  by  the  boys 
on  guard  trying  to  hold  them  on  the  bed-ground 
until  light  enough  to  see  good,  while  the  steers 
thought  it  was  time  to  be  gathering  that  early 
worm ;  no,  they  only  eat  grass.  Yours  truly  was 
far  away,  wandering  among  roses,  poison  ivy, 
cactus  or  something  pleasant,  anyway,  when  our 
cook,  who  was  starting  breakfast,  rudely  yelled 
''Look  out  boys:  here  they  come.''  The  latter 
part  of  his  oration  was  delivered  from  the  high- 
est part  of  the  chuck  wagon.  We  stood  not  upon 
the  order  of  our  going  but  flung  back  the  ''tarps'' 
from  our  faces  and  dived  in  all  earnestness,  for 
that  same  chuck  wagon,  ''practically  immedi- 
ately." From  my  perch  I  looked  down  on  that 
same  sea  of  horns,  from  a  foot — well,  let  it  go; 
anyway  I  don't  think  that  wagon  had  ever 
seemed  so  small.  They  would  have  surely  run 
over  us  but  for  the  camp  fire  and  the  fact  that 
one  of  the  guards  dashed  up  beside  the  leaders 
and  in  choice  Castillian  begged  them  to  beware 
of  the  sour  dough.  After  a  very  long  minute  he 
swung  them  to  one  side  to  our  great  relief.  By 
now  we  were  getting  quite  cool  for  "we  were 
thinly  clad."  However,  we  saw  most  of  the 
herd  pass  in  grand  review — enough  tons  of  fran- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  65 

tic  steers  to  have  trampled  us  out  of  counten- 
ance. When  the  old  cook  climbed  down,  grum- 
bling on  the  incompetence  of  bone-headed  cow- 
punchers  in  general  and  ''three  brave  guards- 
men'' in  particular,  and  viewed  a  would-have- 
been  batch  of  biscuits  there  was  an  uproar  al- 
most equal  to  the  stampede.    Poor  old  Cookie. 

Before  reaching  the  home  ranch  we  had  an- 
other bath  in  the  ''big  muddy"  to  the  evident 
disgust  of  the  steers  and  I  can't  say  that  we 
really  enjoyed  the  dip.  I  had  the  great  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  a  very  anxious  look  on  the  cook's 
face  during  the  crossing  at  this  point.  The 
wagon  tongue  or  handle,  just  as  you  please,  had 
been  broken  a  short  time  before  and  we  had 
done  up  the  fracture  with  a  very  antiseptic 
dressing  and  bound  with  strips  of  rawhide. 
Great  stuff  when  dry  but  inclined  to  stretch 
when  wet.  Our  worthy  chef  got  as  far  as  the 
middle  of  the  stream  where  the  water  was 
deepest,  when  the  tongue  came  loose  and  as 
his  control  was  gone,  the  schooner  started  down 
stream  with  a  much  excited  skipper  at  the 
wheel.  I  don't  suppose  that  a  bunch  of  happy, 
grinning  punchers  made  his  mind  any  easier. 
After  a  time  we  rode  in,  made  fast  our  tug  boats 
and  dragged  the  mixup  into  shallow  water,  and 


66  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

O  the  things  he  said !  Someone  once  said  some- 
thing about  laughing  after  awhile  and  you'll 
laugh  more,  or  near  that.  Anyway,  cookie  had 
his  revenge  very  shortly.  Our  **horse-wrangler" 
or  herder  got  an  overdose  of  mud  on  the  brain 
and  let  the  saddle  horses  roll  in  a  nice  soft 
patch  of  clay,  and  then  they  visited  a  flourishing 
cockle-burr  field  where  they  adorned  their 
manes  and  tails  with  a  most  wonderful  collec- 
tion. Each  rider  had  a  *'mount''  of  four  horses, 
which  were  under  his  special  supervision  and 
no  one  else  could  ride  one  of  the  so-called 
mount  without  a  special  dispensation.  We  had 
a  real  interesting  time  scraping  clay  and  pulling 
burrs,  as  some  of  the  horses  had  ideas  of  their 
own  on  the  subject.  Of  course  the  old  cook 
gave  us  much  wholesome  advice,  when  his  eyes 
would  happen  to  wander  to  a  certain  splice  in 
the  wagon  tongue.  The  boss  tied  a  tin  can  onto 
that  horse  wrangler  and  I  was  reduced  in  the 
ranks  to  fill  the  vacancy  caused  by  his  departure. 
This  ruffled  my  dignity  considerably  but  before 
it  became  chronic  we  picked  up  a  real  wrangler 
in  the  person  of  Ben  Mitchell.  Of  Spanish  des- 
cent, born  and  raised  in  Southern  Texas,  Ben 
was  the  best  man  with  horses  I  ever  saw,  and  a 
very  fine  roper.     He  spoke  splendid  English,  "as 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  67 

the  cowpuncher  speaks  it/'  and  even  better 
Spanish.  Woe  to  the  Mexican  who  might  be 
careless  in  giving  us  directions  as  to  roads, 
trails,  river  crossings,  etc.  Ben  would  always 
ask  these  questions  in  ^'United  States;''  if  the 
answer  was  acceptable  to  Mitchell  well  and 
good,  but  if  the  Mexican  should  arouse  his 
^'Spanish"  he  would  hand  out  a  line  of  *'Es- 
panol"  which  would  leave  the  poor  Mexican  sim- 
ply paralyzed.  He  would  probably  hear  words 
that  he  never  knew  existed,  and  most  likely 
never  heard  again. 

We  reached  the  ranch  about  the  first  of 
April  and  after  making  a  few  changes  in  our 
crew  and  cutting  out  a  number  of  the  weakest 
cattle  we  were  ready  to  begin  the  long  grind. 
Our  crew  was  made  up  of  six  riders,  a  cook  and 
a  horse  wrangler.  Jack  Best,  was  the  boss  and 
the  best  handler  of  cattle,  horses  and  men  that 
I  have  seen  anywhere ;  Jim  Ewing  was  cook  and 
Mitchell  horse  jingler.  These  were  all  stars  of 
the  first  magnitude.  The  rest,  Sam  Houston, 
John  May,  Ed  Balzer,  Albert  Steele  and  myself 
were  all  gems  of  the  regulation  twenty  candle 
power. 

Early  one  morning  we  headed  the  herd 
toward   distant   Texas   and   after   skirting  the 


68  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

base  of  the  Ladron  (thief)  Mountains  and  fol- 
lowing down  the  winding  Salado  for  two  days, 
we  came  again  and  for  the  last  time  to  our  old 
friend,  the  Rio  Grande.  That  river  was  get- 
ting to  be  a  habit  with  us,  but  Cookie  didn't 
care  as  he  had  a  new  handle  in  his  chariot.  In 
the  meantime  the  weather  had  moderated  con- 
siderably and  most  of  the  ice  had  melted  which 
resulted  in  quite  a  rise  in  the  water  stage.  To 
those  who  have  never  seen  a  herd  of  cattle  ford- 
ing a  deep  stream  it  must  be  very  interesting  to 
see  a  long  line  of  horns  and  noses  stretching 
from  bank  to  bank,  the  cattle  on  the  far  shore 
shaking  and  trembling  from  the  cold  bath,  while 
those  on  the  near  bank  are  being  pressed  closer 
and  closer  to  the  water  by  the  heartless  cowboys. 
There  was  an  old  renegade  living  near  the 
stream  who  was  authority  on  the  currents,  chan- 
nels, quicksand  and  other  data,  who  volunteered 
to  act  as  pilot  and  we  appointed  him  at  once 
with  honor.  As  we  were  crossing  the  last  of  the 
cattle  our  official  guide  must  have  gotten  his 
wires  crossed,  as  he  rode  off  into  a  deep  hole 
and  for  about  half  a  minute  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  of  horse  or  rider  while  his  hat  went 
sailing  gayly  away  on  the  swift  stream.  Pres- 
ently up  came  the  submersibles,  blowing  water 
like  porpoises. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  69 

Next  morning  we  bade  a  hasty  farewell  to  the 
land  of  the  big  mosquito  and  stale  vegetable 
smells,  and  laid  a  course  due  Northeast,  passing 
through  Abou  Pass  where  the  Belen  **cutoff'' 
of  the  Santa  Fe  now  runs.  During  this  period  I 
contrived  to  get  the  ear  on  the  North  side  of 
my  head  frosted,  as  we  experienced  one  of  those 
very  cold  piercing  winds  popularly  known  in 
Texas  as  a  ''Norther."  I  was  very  tender  in 
those  days. 

After  about  a  week  we  came  to  a  little  Mex- 
ican settlement  styled  Punta  de  Agua,  meaning 
the  point  or  end  of  water.  This  was  great  news 
to  us,  as  the  cattle  hadn't  had  a  square  drink 
since  leaving  the  Rio  Grande.  This  looked  very 
unpromising  as  it  was  only  a  dinky  trickling 
stream  with  a  few  small  puddles  of  standing 
water.  Here  was  the  hardest  looking  bunch  of 
Mexicans  I  ever  had  the  misfortune  to  behold  at 
one  sitting;  they  were  one  eyed,  pock-marked 
frightfully  from  smallpox,  while  their  manly 
countenances  bore  plain  evidence  of  the  free 
•use  of  knives,  or  barbed  wire,  in  many  a  melee. 
This  bunch  had  a  wide-spread  reputation  of  be- 
ing an  all  around  bad  bunch  of  cattle  and  horse 
thieves  and  had  figured  in  many  killings.  Not 
many  years  before    a    trail    herd  had  passed 


70  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

through  there  and  the  boss  had  killed  two  of 
the  prize  man-eaters.  We  were  not  looking  for 
trouble  so  were  inclined  to  parley,  with  both 
feet  on  the  soft  pedal.  The  ''alcalde''  or  Mayor 
gave  us  permission  to  water  in  their  creek, 
which  they  had  captive,  so  we  at  once  turned 
in  the  thirsty  cattle. 

Within  a  very  few  minutes  things  began  to 
happen ;  those  Mexican  steers  appeared  to 
think  that  they  had  reached  home  again  and 
made  it  a  point  to  visit  the  different  little 
''casas''  and  corn  patches,  without  showing  any 
partiality  whatsoever.  This  city  boasted  of  an 
irrigation  system  along  one  side  of  the  ravine 
which  looked  to  have  been  made  by  the  old 
women  of  the  town  with  sticks  or  perhaps  a  fire 
shovel ;  most  certainly  not  with  a  steam  shovel. 
What  those  energetic  charges  of  ours  did  to  that 
''acequia''  was  a  plenty. 

We  very  soon  had  the  entire  population  buz- 
zing about  our  ears  like  a  bunch  of  angry  hor- 
nets, and  many  were  the  things  they  promised 
to  do  to  us,  but  we  proposed  to  ''be  at  the  do- 
ing.'' After  a  parley  during  which  our  horse 
wrangler  was  the  main  speaker  and  did  great 
execution  with  his  flowery  phrases,  with  the 
ginger  left  out  on  this  occasion,  they  decided 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  71 

to  let  US  go  for  and  in  consideration  of  the  sum 
of  twenty-five  dollars  which  we  gladly  paid. 
We  lost  no  time  in  heading  the,  cattle  East 
where  water  was  and  Mexicans  were  not. 

In  the  meantime  the  cook  had  not  been 
slighted ;  he  had  driven  the  chuck  wagon  up  the 
creek  above  where  we  were  trying  to  water  the 
.herd,  and  finding  a  promising  looking  pool  of 
water  he  was  proceeding  to  fill  a  barrel  which 
we  always  carried  for  emergencies.  Presently 
an  angry  citizen  spied  our  busy  cook  and  he  lost 
no  time  in  demanding  that  he  empty  the  water 
back  forthwith  if  not  sooner.  This  was  a  new 
stunt  to  Jim  but  he  finally  agreed  and  was  draw- 
ing the  water  from  the  barrel  when  the  Mex- 
ican became  impatient  and  fell  to  kicking  one  of 
the  cook's  team  in  the  *'short  ribs  and  apple 
sauce.''  This  was  too  much  for  Ewing,  who 
loved  his  ''bosses"  next  to  his  pet  ''dutch  oven." 
Jim  at  once  dropped  the  water  bucket,  and  be- 
ing a  big  fellow  he  gathered  "Santa  Ana"  up  by 
the  shirt  collar  and  proceeded  to  shake  him  out 
of  his  clothing.  We  expected  this  to  result  in  a 
riot  call  being  turned  in  but  Jim  climbed  up  on 
the  wagon  after  making  sure  that  there  was 
nothing  more  to  come  off,  while  ye  warrior  made 
for  his  castle,  presumably  after  his  heavy  artil- 
lery.   I  repeat  it;  we  left. 


72  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

We  next  passed  through  a  characterless  coun- 
try and  the  second  day  came  to  the  Estancia 
Springs  where  there  was  an  abundance  of  good 
water,  running  out  into  troughs.  The  steers 
had  all  the  water  they  wanted  and  we  were 
happy  once  more. 

Along  about  this  time  I  began  to  see  the  fine 
points  of  the  game.  When  the  cattle  had  eaten 
all  the  sage  brush,  grass,  etc.,  that  they  felt  the 
occasion  required,  they  were  ready  and  willing 
to  take  a  little  stroll,  and  we  were  always  glad 
to  accommodate  them,  during  business  hours. 
Ab  Steele  and  Sam  Houston  were  our  ''point- 
ers'' and  their  duty  was  to  head  or  point  the 
leaders,  which  were  always  the  biggest,  strong- 
est cattle  ''in  the  way  in  which  we  should  go." 
The  boss  would  give  his  instructions  to  the 
"pointers''  and  all  the  rest  had  to  do  was  to 
"keep  them  coming;"  when  the  leaders  stopped, 
everything  stopped.  When  they  were  allowed 
to  proceed  the  "swing"  and  "flank  men"  got 
busy  throwing  them  on  the  trail,  to  be  followed 
finally  by  the  best  man  on  the  job,  the  "drag" 
man,  on  whose  care  and  judgement  the  very 
weakest  of  the  cattle  at  the  rear  depended.  In 
John  May  I  think  we  had  the  best  "drag  man" 
who  ever  went  up  the  trail ;  he  knew  the  disposi- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  73 

tion  of  most  of  his  patients,  had  almost  all  of 
them  named  very  appropriately,  and  would  not 
allow  a  ''flank''  man  to  charge  his  position  or 
excite  his  protegees  in  any  way.  Sometimes  in 
open  country  we  would  have  the  herd  strung 
out  for  more  than  a  mile,  all  plodding  solemnly 
Eastward  and  knocking  out  a  trail  from  five  to 
ten  yards  wide  and  many  inches  deep  in  dust. 

After  a  half  day  vacation  at  Estancia  Springs 
we  again  set  forth,  the  ''pointers''  holding  them 
a  little  North  of  East,  with  the  intention  of  strik- 
ing the  Blanco  Canyon  which  through  its  wind- 
ings of  forty  miles  leads  down  to  the  Pecos 
River.  While  in  the  "brakes"  near  the  head  of 
the  Blanco  we  encountered  one  of  the  worst 
late  storms  I  have  ever  seen;  this  one  took  the 
form  of  high,  bitterly  cold  winds,  with  sleet  and 
snow  thrown  in  for  good  measure.  The  bliz- 
zard struck  us  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after-, 
noon,  and  as  our  "Chihuahuas"  were  from  a 
warm  country  they  wanted  to  turn  back  to  that 
dear  Mexico  right  away,  quick.  We  were  in  a 
thinly  timbered  country,  with  scrub  pinion  and 
cedar  growing  in  small  groves  which  would  only 
cover  a  few  acres.  I  saw  a  bunch  of  steers  mak- 
ing a  bee-line  for  the  land  of  the  tamale,  and 
as  there  were  none  of  the  other  boys  in  sight  I 


74  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

rode  hurriedly  down  to  head  them  off.  I  was 
told  that  this  was  the  correct  thing  to  do,  but 
while  riding  across  a  shelf  of  sloping  rock, 
which  w^as  slippery  with  sleet,  my  horse's  feet 
flew  from  under  him  and  he  landed  on  his  back 
at  the  foot  of  the  incline,  with  the  horn  of  the 
saddle  buried  in  the  ground  up  to  the  cantle 
while  one  of  his  hind  legs  was  twisted  under 
him  so  that  I  was  sure,  later,  that  it  must  be 
broken.  I  landed  in  a  heap  about  twenty  feet 
further  on.  I  at  once  gathered  myself  up  and 
ran  back  to  ''John"  the  pride  of  my  ''mount;'' 
I  can  remember  yet  the  way  he  looked  up  at 
me  out  of  his  soft  brown  eyes  as  though  to  say 
"You're  a  real  lemon."  I  was  ready  to  agree 
to  anything,  but  here  I  was  afoot,  the  steers 
getting  away,  night  coming  on  and  not  a  man 
in  sight.  I  whipped  out  my  "frog-sticker,"  cut 
the  horn-string  which  held  my  saddle  rope  in 
place,  and  hurriedly  making  a  loop  slipped  it 
over  my  inverted  steed's  forelegs.  I  then  got 
down  below  and  pulled  with  all  vengeance.  Aft- 
er several  desperate  pulls  I  finally  flopped  old 
John  over  on  his  side  where  after  several  efforts 
he  managed  to  regain  his  feet.  The  leg  of  which 
I  had  been  suspicious  was  not  broken,  "but  bad- 
ly bent,"  and  ever  after  he  would  limp  after  an 
extra  hard  ride. 


76  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

That  night  was  a  terror  to  cowpunchers  and 
evildoers  in  general.  Next  morning  we  found 
our  saddle  horses  scattered  far  and  near,  but 
mostly  far,  while  John  May  found  twelve  of  his 
prize  pupils  frozen  to  death  on  the  bed  ground. 
The  cutting  North  wind  moderated  some  during 
the  day  but  it  was  still  bitterly  cold  when  night 
came  on.  The  cattle  had  walked  and  milled  all 
day,  eating  very  little  so  were  in  no  condition  to 
tackle  another  bad  night.  However,  the  boss 
was  equal  to  the  emergency.  Just  before  night 
we  came  to  a  grove  of  trees,  the  most  of  which 
were  dead  and  many  had  fallen.  This  piece  of 
timber  covered  about  fifteen  or  twenty  acres,  I 
should  judge.  Jack  sent  in  a  couple  of  men  who 
made  small  fires  throughout  the  grove  and  then 
we  turned  the  cattle  in.  It  may  not  sound  plaus- 
ible but  it  is  an  absolute  fact  that  those  steers 
took  to  our  little  fires  like  a  bear  after  honey. 
Next  morning  we  noticed  quite  a  number  bear- 
ing scorched  spots  from  being  hooked  or  crowd- 
ed against  the  fires.  We  had  been  standing 
three  guards  of  three  and  one-quarter  hours 
each,  two  men  to  the  guard,  the  cook  and  horse 
wrangler  being  exempt.  We  compromised  at 
this  point  by  setting  two  guards  of  six  hours 
each,  three  men  to  the  guard.     After  a  very 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  77 

long  day  that  was  the  longest,  coldest  six  hours 
of  my  life. 

The  weather  moderated  rapidly  after  this, 
which  was  about  the  last  storm  of  that  Spring. 
Two  or  three  days  later  we  struck  Blanco 
Canon.  Blanco  means  *'white,"  but  why  they 
should  have  called  this  place  white  is  beyond 
me,  as  that  was  an  intensely  dark  place  at  night, 
being  very  deep  and  heavily  fringed  with  timber 
along  the  edges.  I  had  a  splendid  ''night 
horse''  kept  especially  for  night  guard  as  he 
was  gentle,  sure  footed  and  wide  awake  to  keep 
us  out  of  dog  holes,  cactus,  fallen  timber,  etc. 
In  this  particular  Blanco  or  ''white''  canyon  I 
found  my  prize  horse  sadly  at  fault  on  a  very 
dark  cloudy  night  when  a  puncher  is  apt  to  think 
of  one  of  his  old  school-day  recitations  which 
begins  "Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star;  how  I  won- 
der where  you  are."  On  this  night  it  grew  dark- 
er and  darker  on  my  guard;  I  knew  that  I 
couldn't  see  anything,  but  supposed  my  horse 
could,  as  usual.  Presently  I  found  out  differ- 
ently, as  my  steed  lost  his  bearings  evidently, 
for  by  the  sound  of  things  we  collided  violently 
with  an  ex-citizen  of  Chihuahua,  Mexico.  We 
reared  backwards,  dodged  and  side-stepped  as 
the  rules  provide  for  on  such  occasions,  while 


78  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

the  steer  gave  a  subdued  bellow,  sprang  to  his 
feet,  as  evidenced  by  the  noise  and  stood  there 
trying  to  pierce  the  gloom  and  no  doubt  bless- 
ing me  in  choice  Spanish.  The  steers  v^ere 
more  reasonable  by  this  time,  or  that  little  side 
issue  would  have  been  more  than  enough  to 
have  set  them  tearing  through  the  atmosphere. 
We  followed  the  Blanco  right  down  to  the 
Pecos  which  we  struck  at  Anton  Chico.  (Little 
Anthony;  shades  of  Cleopatra!)  After  taking 
on  a  fresh  stock  of  provisions,  mostly  soda, 
bacon  and  beans,  we  forded  the  river  just  be- 
low the  city  and  our  pointers  laid  a  course 
for  the  Palomas  Tanks.  We  forgot  to  touch 
wood  or  cross  our  fingers  just  at  this  point  as 
we  experienced  quite  a  run  of  extra  bad  luck. 
First  my  brother  and  a  most  important  mem- 
ber of  the  glad  circle  by  reason  of  his  being 
**right  pointer,''  was  kicked  by  a  horse  of  bad 
manners.  He  did  a  thorough  job  at  that. 
Albert  was  riding  on  the  chuck  wagon  when 
the  cook's  four  became  excited  at  something 
by  the  roadside  and  whirling  suddenly  they 
smashed  the  front  end  of  the  chuck  wagon  be- 
yond repair.  As  a  grand  finale,  the  horse 
wranglers'  bunch  of  saddle  horses  took  fright 
at  something  out  in  the  brush   (the  boys  were 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  79 

confident  that  it  was  a  bear;  I  know  that  the 
smashup  was)  and  away  went  the  entire  bunch 
of  horses,  seventeen  of  them  getting  away.  It 
took  us  two  weeks  to  get  them  all  back,  as  they 
split  up  in  small  bunches. 

We  sent  a  man  on  to  the  S — T  ranch  and  bor- 
rowed a  wagon  of  them  until  we  reached  their 
ranch.  To  cap  the  climax  we  had  a  fight  even 
in  our  well  ordered  family.  Sam  Houston  who 
was  red-headed  to  a  dangerous  degree,  and 
Irish,  became  most  quarrelsome  and  aggressive ; 
he  had  at  different  times  read  the  '*riot  act''  to 
all,  from  the  boss  down  to  the  horse-jingler. 

One  evening  when  we  were  drifting  the  herd 
slowly  up  to  the  bed  ground,  which  was  gen- 
erally two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  camp, 
Sam  came  dashing  up  to  my  humble  station  on 
the  flank  and  proposed  to  show  me  a  hurry  up 
swing,  Southern  Texas  style.  The  idea  didn't 
appeal  to  me  and  I  invited  him  to  get  back  up 
on  the  point  where  he  belonged.  This  resulted 
in  a  ''talkfest"  during  which  he  gently  inserted 
a  hand  under  a  large  handkerchief  which  I  was 
wearing  about  my  neck,  and  after  giving  the 
said  kerchief  a  few  turns,  I  was  wheezing  like 
a  real  Ford.  My  brother  from  his  position  on 
the  other  point,  saw  that  we  were  pulling  off 


80  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

something  not  included  in  the  program,  so  he 
loped  back  and  invited  Sam  to  ''jar  aloose/' 
While  arguing  this  phase  of  the  case  ye  warrior 
made  a  pass  at  Albert,  who  is  one  of  those  left- 
handed  parties,  ''south  paws''  I  believe  the  base 
ball  fans  call  them.  At  any  rate  he  landed 
repeatedly  and  at  will  on  poor  Sam's  physiog- 
nomy so  that  he  soon  looked  as  though  he  had 
fallen  on  a  picket  fence.  Then  down  came  the 
boss,  who  looked  the  field  of  battle  over,  took 
the  evidence  in  the  case,  smelled  of  the  blood, 
sized  up  the  locks  of  hair  adorning  the  near-by 
mesquite  bushes  and  fired  Sam  forthwith.  I 
have  never  worn  another  handkerchief,  except 
in  my  pocket. 

After  some  delay  we  reached  the  S — T  head- 
quarters, where  they  killed  the  fatted  calf  in 
our  honor  and  even  gave  us  half  to  remember 
them  by.  There  was  good  grass  in  this  part  of 
the  world  so  we  visited  with  the  S — T  boys  for  a 
couple  of  days;  then  we  hired  another  man,  pro- 
moted one  of  our  men  to  the  vacant  post  of  left 
pointer,  and  setting  a  course  due  East  we  pulled 
for  the  San  Howe  Tank,  near  the  Texas  line. 

There  was  great  rivalry  among  the  cowboys 
of  the  different  trail  herds  and  outfits,  each 
swearing  that  his  was  the  only  genuine  and  all 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  81 

others  were  cheap  imitations.  All  this  was  in 
good  nature  of  course.  Nearly  every  outfit  had 
one  extra  fast  horse  of  which  they  took  espe- 
cially good  care;  then  when  several  outfits  got 
together  they  would  pull  off  some  real  classy 
races,  the  punchers  backing  their  respective 
horses  for  all  they  could  beg  or  borrow. 

Near  the  San  Howe  Tank  we  passed  another 
herd,  Eastward  bound  like  ourselves;  this 
proved  to  be  a  'Titchfork''  herd  from  the  lower 
Pecos  country.  Their  boss  came  and  looked 
us  over  and  we  evidently  failed  to  impress  him 
favorably,  for  as  he  was  starting  back  to  his 
outfit  he  remarked,  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  that 
we  had  ^'better  get  our  moose  off  the  trail  or 
they  would  get  stepped  on  when  the  Pitchfork 
got  going."  We  handed  out  the  sarcastic  grin, 
and  let  our  cattle  graze,  as  we  knew  that  was 
the  proper  method  of  raising  steam,  and  we 
knew  just  what  those  ^'walking  picture  galle- 
ries'' could  do  when  filled  with  the  essentials. 
In  about  an  hour  there  was  much  activity  in 
the  camp  of  the  enemy,  so  the  boss  gave  the 
pointers  the  "high  sign"  and  we  were  off  in  a 
cloud  of  dust.  Our  steers  fell  in  line  like 
trained  soldiers  and  struck  out  with  that  pe- 
culiar camel-like  swing  which  trail  cattle  ac- 


82  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

quire  only  under  good  tutors  and  after  much 
practice  and  drilling.  The  Pitchfords  failed  to 
walk  on  us  or  even  travel  in  our  dust,  to  our 
great  satisfaction.  Along  in  the  afternoon  one 
of  our  men  had  occasion  to  go  back  a  short  dis- 
tance, just  to  satisfy  our  curiosity,  (to  be  hon- 
est) ;  he  found  the  boss  of  **all  the  Pitchforks''' 
and  all  his  men  behind  their  cattle  and  with 
ropes  and  slickers  were  trying  for  more  speed. 
This  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  as  it  crowded 
the  weaker  cattle  up  among  the  strong  where 
they  were  hooked  and  bumped  around  to  the 
detriment  of  the  entire  herd.  We  toddled  right 
on  our  way  and  never  saw  them  again. 

We  passed  Endee,  New  Mexico,  on  this  day 
and  were  told  that  the  Texas  line  was  only  five 
miles  away.  However,  this  meant  half  a  day's 
travel  as  we  only  figured  on  from  ten  to  twelve 
miles  per  day,  which  doesn't  sound  like  speeding 
in  this  day  of  the  swift  automobile  and  **Ford." 

Next  morning  we  crossed  the  line,  after  inter- 
viewing an  Inspector  of  the  Cattle  Sanitary 
Board,  who  has  an  eye  for  diseases  but  his  main 
specialty  is  for  brands  other  than  those  appear- 
ing on  the  manifest  or  passport  which  is  pro- 
duced by  the  boss.  Shortly  afterward  we 
climbed  up  on  that  vast  tableland  known  as  the 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  83 

*'Stake  Plains''  where  you  may  look  in  any  direc- 
tion until  your  eyes  grow  dim  without  seeing  a 
tree  or  any  living  thing.  It  is  quite  different  now 
no  doubt. 

We  were  now  informed  that  we  would  have 
to  drive  sixty-five  miles  without  water,  and  as 
the  days  were  getting  long  and  hot,  it  being  the 
latter  part  of  May,  we  were  much  concerned. 
This  meant  a  matter  of  at  least  four  days  and 
nights  without  water  which  may  do  for  the 
camel  but  not  for  ordinary  cattle.  However, 
ours  were  not  of  the  ordinary  variety,  so  we  de- 
cided to  tackle  it;  Hobson's  choice  as  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.  We  were  told  on  good  au- 
thority that  **Dead  Horse  Lake"  would  be  the 
next  watering.  The  sugar  trust,  the  same  be- 
ing my  father  who  had  just  ridden  out  from 
Amerillo  and  joined  us,  and  the  boss  went  into 
secret  session  with  the  result  that  we  did  very 
little  driving  during  the  day  when  it  was  hot 
but  as  soon  as  night  came  we  laid  our  course 
by  the  North  Star  and  advised  our  Sherwin 
Williams  paint  samples  to  ''dig  out."  After  two 
days  and  nights  of  this  frivolous  life  the  pace 
began  to  tell  on  all  concerned,  but  most  upon 
the  steers.  We  managed  to  keep  our  horses 
supplied  from  the  scattering,  one  burro-power 
wells  which  we  would  find  at  long  intervals. 


84  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

The  cattle  began  to  take  on  that  hollow, 
drawn  look,  with  eyes  sunken  far  back  in  their 
heads;  if  a  little  breeze  should  start  up  they 
would  turn  facing  it  and  run  out  their  tongues 
and  bawl.  ^'Nothing  like  that  in  Mexico."  They 
were  too  thirsty  to  graze  any  more  and  certainly 
did  hand  us  out  some  punishment  by  causing 
us  to  be  in  the  saddle  almost  continually.  Some- 
times when  it  settled  down  a  trifle  hotter  than 
common,  we  would  declare  a  truce  and  a  puncher 
could  learn  wearily  on  his  horse's  neck  and  tell 
him  just  what  was  thought  of  steers  anyway,  and 
it  might  be  that  he  could  snatch  about  forty  winks. 
Then  just  as  you  began  to  dream  of  feather  beds, 
great  streams  and  lakes  of  water,  clear  and  cold 
and  with  green  fields  on  both  sides  and  not  a  steer 
in  sight;  at  this  point  some  long-legged,  brindle 
ox  would  experience  an  extra  sharp  pang  of  thirst, 
or  perhaps  a  breeze  would  spring  up  from  the 
direction  of  some  distant  windmill.  Away  would 
go  the  "weather  observer''  and  the  entire  bunch 
at  his  heels.  This  would  call  out  all  hands  to  con- 
vince them  that  it  was  just  another  bad  dream, 
and  that  they  must  practice  watchful  waiting  and 
patience  in  this  land  of  the  far  horizon  and  few 
drinks. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  85 

Some  days  it  was  hot ;  the  next  day  would  per- 
haps be  pronounced  just  a  little  more  so.  One  day 
it  was  105  in  the  shade,  and  no  shade  in  sight,  as 
we  passed  through  a  little  weed  overgrown  town 
called  La  Plata,  meaning  more  silver.  We  couldn't 
seem  to  get  away  from  the  silver.  William  Jen- 
nings should  be  right  at  home  in  that  locality. 

This  was  all  a  country  of  very  deep  wells,  bum 
windmills  and  the  scarcity  of  water  was  the  most 
interesting  thing  I  noticed.  There  was  an  abun- 
dance of  fine  ''buffalo  gVass''  in  this  country,  but 
we  were  all  too  busy  "to  eat  much,''  as  the  cattle 
were  in  torture  by  now,  some.of  them  going  blind 
and  hooking  savagely  at  anything  near  them 
which  happened  to  move.  Needless  to  say  the 
other  cattle  gave  them  a  wide  berth,  but  the  thirst 
crazed  steers  held  together  from  sound  and  force 
of  habit.  I  certainly  did  pity  those  poor,  tortured 
wretches. 

Many  miles  short  of  "the  lake  with  the  dead 
horses"  we  struck  up  with  a  real  windmill  which 
had  a  storage  tank  in  connection,  but  they  were 
not  prepared  for  so  much  company  at  once  as  they 
only  had  two  small  troughs.  We  were  desperate 
by  now  and  the  steers  had  been  for  some  time,  so 
we  began  watering  the  starving  cattle  shortly  after 
nightfall.    Had  we  turned  in  the  entire  herd  there 


86  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

would  have  been  a  riot  and  the  troughs  would  have 
been  speedily  trampled  into  the  earth,  so  we  had  to 
water  them  in  small  bunches  of  about  a  hundred 
to  a  table  or,  I  should  say,  at  a  time.  The  cattle 
that  were  being  watered  were  no  trouble  to  us, 
as  you  couldn't  have  pried  them  away  from  those 
troughs  with  a  crowbar ;  neither  did  the  ones  that 
had  been  watered  give  us  any  concern,  as  they  at 
once  fell  to  collecting  that  long-delayed  feed,  but 
the  main  herd  certainly  did  deal  us  misery  in 
large  doses.  They  were  so  near  that  water  that 
they  could  almost  taste  it,  and  they  seemed  to 
think  that  they  should  all  sit  at  the  first  table. 

This  was  a  long  weary  all  night  session  for  all 
hands;  just  as  the  sun  appeared  beyond  the  edge 
of  those  endless  plains  we  turned  the  last  bunch  on 
the  water  and  made  a  bee-line  for  camp,  ignoring 
the  cook  with  his  solicitous  offer  of  breakfast  or 
"coffee  at  least.''  We  consigned  him  to  that 
locality  where  steam  heat  and  coffee  are  unknown, 
unrolled  our  beds  and  fell  dead. 

Along  in  the  afternoon  we  came  alive  and  found 
our  subjects  feeling  much  better;  a  few  were  still 
grazing,  but  most  of  them  were  resting  like  our- 
selves. It  was  certainly  amusing  to  watch  some 
of  those  steers  ''handle  that  water  question."  They 
already  looked  like  balloons,  but  occasionally  some 


DAYS   THAT  ARE  DONE  87 

cautious  old  chap  would  scramble  to  his  feet  and 
walk  hurriedly  down  to  the  troughs  just  to  see  if 
after  all  it  was  just- another  bad  dream,  perhaps, 
he  would  thrust  his  nose  deep  into  the  water  and 
after  taking  a  sip  or  two  would  stand  gazing  at 
the  reflection  of  his  handsome  visage.  He  may 
have  been  thinking  as  did  the  Irishman  who  stood 
looking  into  the  mirror  the  morning  after  a  big 
'Vake''  and  remarked,  ''Begorra,  I  must  have  had 
a  great  time/' 

We  rested  there  all  the  balance  of  that  day, 
starting  out  again  next  morning,  and  if  that  coun- 
try experienced  a  drouth  afterward  I  would  not 
be  surprised,  considering  the  vast  quantity  of 
water  which  we  carried  away. 

We  were  now  approaching  Amarillo  from  the 
Southwest.  (This  word  is  Spanish  and  signifies 
''yellow,"  but  whether  applied  to  their  people  or 
our  cattle,  I  could  not  determine.)  The  surround- 
ing country  was  even  at  that  time  fairly  thickly 
settled ;  by  now  no  doubt  they  are  raising  straw- 
berries, garlic  and  sweet  peas  all  over  that  historic 
ground.  What  we  raised  has  never  been  classed 
with  vegetables  as  yet,  I  believe. 

The  approaches  to  Amarillo  from  all  directions 
led  through  long  lanes ;  it  may  be  that  our  ''Chi- 
huahuas'' thought  we  were  getting  them  onto  a 


88  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

queer  formation.  Many  of  these  lanes  extended 
for  miles  with  an  occasional  off-set  of  perhaps 
forty  acres,  used  for  holding  or  passing  of  herds. 
We  were  going  in  on  such  a  lane  and  as  the  cattle 
were  getting  thirsty  again,  we  were  traveling  on 
the  "high  gear.''  Some  people  will  laugh  just 
here,  perhaps,  but  I  cannot  tell  a  lie.  It  is  an  abso- 
lute fact  that  cattle  can  smell  water  which  is  miles 
away  when  the  wind  is  setting  right,  and  they 
advertise  the  fact  by  running  out  a  tongue  as  long 
as  the  arm,  just  to  show  a  heartless  cowboy  how 
very  dry  they  are. 

All  of  the  boys  but  one  were  riding  in  front  to 
keep  the  steers  from  running  when  we  drew  up  to 
one  of  these  lane  switches.  Here  we  found  *'Mary 
and  the  lambs,''  about  fifteen  hundred  nice,  fat 
woolies,  headed  for  the  market  at  Amarillo.  Just 
to  show  us  that  he  didn't  take  dust  off  ''any  bunch 
of  bow-legged  cowpunchers,"  Robinson  and  his 
man  Friday  hazed  their  flock  right  out  on  the 
main  line  ahead  of  the  lions,  the  same  being  our 
steers,  while  he  later  referred  to  ''jackasses," 
which  I  couldn't  understand.  Our  boss  rode  for- 
ward and  advised  him  to  wait  a  bit,  as  we  were 
working  under  a  full  head  of  steam  and  were 
liable  to  blow  up  at  any  minute.  The  gentle  shep- 
herd looked  pityingly  up  at  old  Jack  but  rolled  the 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  89 

wool  right  out  in  front  of  us— a  clear  case  of 
sheep  ''rushing  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread/' 
We  had  to  check  the  onward  rush  of  the  steers  at 
once  or  trample  the  mutton  chops  under  foot; 
however,  this  was  not  a  success,  as  the  mile  long 
line  of  hurrying  steers  at  once  began  to  pile  up  on 
the  front  ranks  and  tearing  holes  in  the  narrow 
lane  through  which  a  ''dread-nothing''  could  pass 
with  comfort.  The  man  with  the  crook  began  to 
see  by  now  that  he  had  gotten  into  the  wrong  pew. 
I  doubt  very  much  if  he  ever  at  any  time  saw  a 
harder  looking  bunch  of  cattle,  horses  or  men.  To 
relieve  the  situation  and  prevent  any  undue  em- 
barassment,  Jack  rode  near  ye  shepherd,  comment- 
ing freely  upon  his  probable  ancestry  and  his  final 
destination,  and  advising  him  to  climb  a  pole  as 
we  "couldn't  hold  them  any  longer."  That  was  the 
busiest  shepp-man  I  have  ever  seen,  and  I  have 
seen  several,  a  fact  of  which  I  am  not  proud,  how- 
ever. At  the  end  of  that  section  we  came  to  an- 
other switch  into  which  the  sheep  were  hurried, 
nor  could  we  persuade  them  to  travel  in  our  com- 
pany any  further. 

We  were  now  on  the  main  Southern  Texas  trail, 
with  great  herds  in  sight  at  all  times;  sometimes 
we  could  see  six  or  eight  at  one  time,  as  that  was 
certainly  a  level,  monotonous  country. 


90  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

Across  the  Texas  plains  our  herd  rolled  on. 

And  sweet  was  the  music  of  the  cowboy's  song. 

About  a  mile  from  Amarillo  there  was  a  great 
lake  of  real  water,  not  that  optical  delusion  known 
to  the  profession  as  ''mirage.''  Many  times  every 
day  we  saw  what  looked  to  be  bodies  of  water,  and 
some  so  real  that  you  could  almost  hear  the  frogs 
jump  in  at  your  approach.  In  a  short  time  the 
lake  of  ''hot  air"  would  vanish,  leaving  just  a 
waste  of  plains,  nothing  more. 

We  rested  at  Amarillo  several  days,  meeting 
dozens  of  punchers  from  the  different  herds  in 
port,  each  riding  his  top  horse  and  loudly  pro- 
claiming that  his  was  the  only  outfit  worthy  of 
notice,  after  all.  You  could  see  them  riding  down 
Amarillo's  main  steet,  dressed  in  real  clean  clothes, 
with  equally  clean  faces  and  their  necks  adorned 
with  the  gaudiest  handkerchiefs  to  be  had.  There 
was  one  exception  to  that  handkerchief  craze,  I 
remember.  Even  old  Jim,  our  dearly  beloved  and 
often  hated  cookie,  felt  the  festivity  of  the  occa- 
sion, for  he  at  once  washed  his  face  threw  our 
traps  from  the  wagon  and  made  a  hurried  trip  into 
town,  coming  back  with  a  fresh  supply  of  beans, 
bacon  and  soda  and  oh  joy!  Oh  Jonathan!  a 
bunch  of  dried  peaches  and  prunes.  To  properly 
celebrate  our  entry  into  this  land  he  undertook  to 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  91 

build  US  a  kind  of  dried  fruit  proposition  with  an 
outer  covering  of  rawhide  or  dough,  while  the 
inside  was  filled  with  a  fearful  combination  of 
dried  fruits.  During  the  construction  of  this 
masterpiece  the  cook  waxed  quite  sentimental  and 
rolling  his  eyes  up  at  me  he  croaked,  more  or  less, 
musically, 

''Can  she  bake  a  chicken  pie,  Billy  boy,  Billy  boy ; 
Can  she  bake  a  chicken  pie.  Charming  Billy." 

By  this  time  I  felt  that  I  was  a  star  of  great 
brilliance  and  could  not  afford  an  ordinary  cook 
to  take  any  liberties  with  me  whatever,  so  I  told 
Cookie  what  I  had  heard  of  the  climate  in  the 
Imperial  Valley,  mounted  my  steed  and  rode  away 
in  great  indignation.  However,  I  ate  some  of  that 
deadly  combination,  just  to  appease  old  Jim,  and 
I  am  more  or  less  alive  to  tell  the  story ! 

I  once  heard  a  remark  about  ''a  youngster  will 
sometimes  say  something  when  they  don't  know 
it,''  or  perhaps  it  was  ''out  of  the  mouths  of 
infants."  Any  way  a  gay  band  of  us  were  riding 
down  an  Amarillo  street  on  one  of  those  fine  May 
mornings  and  it  may  have  been  Sunday,  as  the 
bells  were  shouting  something  which  I  couldn't 
understand.  As  we  passed  a  cozy  looking  little 
home  with  lilac  and  asparagus  growing  up  over 
the  door,  a  pig-tailed,  ten-year-old  Miss  climbed 
up  on  the  front  gate  and  toothlessly  warbled, 


92  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

''My  sweetheart's  a  cowboy, 

He's  gone  up  the  trail ; 
Vm  looking  for  a  letter 
In  the  very  next  mail/' 

Conversation  lagged  after  we  had  passed  on, 
and  when  we  had  ridden  up  to  a  "hitching  post" 
and  anchored  our  horses,  I  followed  several  of  the 
boys  into  a  hotel  office  where  they  borrowed  enve- 
lopes and  paper  and  retiring  to  a  quiet  corner  the 
great  literary  effort  was  on,  judging  by  the  corru- 
gated brows.  (Of  course  they  were  writing  to 
Mother,  Aunt  Jane  or  brother  Tom.) 

We  saw  many  Texas  Rangers  here ;  I  think  this 
organization  would  compare  very  favorably  with 
the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  as  they  are  cer- 
tainly a  terror  to  evildoers.  Since  the  Indian  has 
become  domesticated  they  haven't  kept  the  Rang- 
ers on  the  jump  as  in  the  early  days,  and  time 
seemd  to  be  of  no  object  to  the  number  stationed 
at  Amarillo. 

After  leaving  Amarillo  ''the  yellow,"  we  fol- 
lowed a  line  of  railroad,  passing  through  many 
small  towns,  where  we  were  regarded  as  some- 
thing in  the  line  of  a  circus,  as  our  coming  was 
heralded  by  the  newspapers.  One  editor  in  par- 
ticular stated  that  if  "we  ever  tried  to  ship  those 
steers  that  we  would  have  to  have  cars  made  to 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  93 

order,  as  no  ordinary  car  had  doors  wide  enough 
to  admit  the  horns  which  our  herd  had  on  exhibi- 
tion/' The  boss  and  one  of  the  boys  called  on  this 
editor,  but  ''he  was  out ;''  no  doubt  a  search  would 
have  "found  him  in  and  found  him  out." 

We  had  now  come  to  the  season  of  the  Texas 
thunder-storm,  of  short  duration  but  great  vio- 
lence. We  soon  became  wise  to  those  storms,  as 
the  natives  early  advised  us  that  if  a  heavy  bank 
of  clouds  should  appear  in  the  Northwest  at  night- 
fall that  we  could  figure  on  a  storm  before  morn- 
ing, and  we  found  this  to  be  so.  This  was  some- 
thing new  to  us,  as  while  it  sometimes  accidentally 
rained  in  New  Mexico,  we  could  never  depend 
on  it. 

Those  who  have  never  experienced  an  electrical 
storm  in  the  open  I  would  advise  to  try  one  with- 
out any  delay.  Along  about  midnight  the  moon 
and  stars  would  suddenly  disappear  and  it  would 
become  intensely  dark.  Talk  about  ''darkest 
Africa ;''  if  it  can  be  any  darker  than  Texas,  I  am 
not  going  there.  The  "heavenly  artillery"  would 
shortly  advise  us  to  sit  up  and  take  notice,  while 
the  lighting  would  stab  down  into  the  earth  on  all 
sides  with  blinding  intensity.  After  a  flash  it 
would  be  impossible  to  see  for  half  a  minute,  then 
the  thunder  would  come  like  a  blow  in  the  face. 


94  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

while  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  Cattle  are 
easy  to  hold  after  they  once  get  wet,  as  they 
huddle  close  together  and  stand  without  sound, 
patiently  waiting  ''till  the  sun  shines,  Nellie." 
When  you  can  see  balls  of  ''fire''  or  electricity  on 
your  horse's  ears  and  on  the  ends  of  the  steers' 
horns  you  can  depend  that  it  is  really  dark  and 
your  hand  will  be  invisible  even  if  held  within 
three  inches  of  your  face.  I  have  often  wondered 
how  it  was  that  punchers  are  not  more  often 
struck  by  lightning;  it  must  be  that  they  are 
"not  as  black  as  they  are  painted."  On  the  other 
hand,  they  tell  you  that  the  good  die  young.  I 
used  to  ponder  on  the  subject  quite  a  bit,  while  on 
my  lonely  guard,  and  I  believe  that  some  of  the 
Creator's  greatest  sermons  are  open  to  mankind, 
right  out  under  the  stars  and  the  canopy  of 
Heaven.  We  were  not  allowed  to  ride  together  on 
guard,  as  this  was  equal  to  "riding  one  horse,"  and 
a  neglect  of  duty.  Consequently  we  had  much 
time  for  the  "big  thoughts"  and  could  ask  the 
"how,  why  and  wherefore"  to  our  heart's  content, 
just  so  we  asked  these  things  of  ourselves. 

By  now  we  were  entirely  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  our  long,  dry  drives  and  were  more  in 
a  position  to  enjoy  life.  It  was  certainly  great  to 
ride  slowly  around  the  resting  herd  and  hear  them 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  95 

give  forth  immense,  ^'soulful''  sighs  of  peace  on 
earth  and  good  will  toward  cowpunchers  in  gen- 
eral. On  some  of  these  clear,  starlight  nights 
when  the  great  Dipper  was  doing  business  up  at 
the  old  stand  near  the  North  Star  and  the  Seven 
Sisters  were  trying  to  keep  from  falling  into  Job's 
Coffin,  while  The  Milky  Way  sparkled  like  a  neck- 
lace of  ''rhinestones,"  some  of  the  boys  on  guard 
would  rise  to  the  occasion.  After  a  few  whistles 
and  preliminary  starts  in  different  keys,  they 
would  burst  forth  into  real  song  of  the  nightingale 
class.  Sometimes  a  tenor  voice  would  tremblingly 
proclaim, 

"Last  night  as  I  lay  on  the  prairie, 
I  looked  up  at  the  stars  in  the  sky ; 

And  wondered  if  ever  a  cowboy. 

Would  drift  to  that  Sweet  Bye  and  Bye.'' 

From  the  far  side  of  the  sleeping  herd  a  husky 
voice  would  demand,  in  no  uncertain  tone,  'Take 
back  your  gold,  for  gold  can  never  buy  me."  At 
another  time  an  "angelic"  voice  might  wonder, 
falteringly,  "Are  there  any  stars  in  my  crown?" 
His  mate  on  guard  would  maliciously  warble  back, 
"NO ;  NOT  ONEr 

If  a  fellow  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  awake 
during  the  time  he  was  supposed  to  be  asleep,  and 
hear  some  of  these  "singfests"  he  would  sometimes 


96  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

experience  a  tightening  of  the  throat  and  a  ting- 
ling of  the  eyelids  of  which  the  others  would  never 
know,  as  the  only  emotion  a  cowboy  is  supposed  to 
exhibit  is  joy  or  perhaps  bravado.  However,  I 
have  known  several  punchers  who  were  almost 
human. 

After  many  eventful  days  we  reached  Canadian 
City,  on  the  bank  of  the  Canadian  river.  This 
stream  is  second  to  the  Rio  Grande  in  the  matter 
of  treachery  as  regards  quicksand  and  deep  holes, 
and  of  a  beautiful  chocolate  color.  As  Longfellow 
might  say,  the  Canadian  resembles  the  Rio  Grande 
"just  as  the  mist  resembles  the  rain.'' 

The  season  of  general  rains  was  now  on  in  full 
blast,  and  even  working  a  little  overtime,  it 
occurred  to  us.  The  Canadian  was  bank  full  and 
still  rising,  freely  punctuated  with  drifting  logs 
and  uprooted  trees.  The  old-timers  advised  us  to 
*'make  haste  slowly,"  so  we  camped  nearby  until 
we  could  confer  with  our  counsel  in  Ireland.  The 
next  day  another  herd  appeared  and  followed  our 
example  by  ''pitching  their  tent  and  grazing  their 
cattle  on  a  thousand  hills."  (The  hills,  weren't 
there,  but  it  sounds  all  right,  so  with  your  permis- 
sion we  will  include  the  hills,  as  they  are  handy  to 
have  around  during  high  water.) 


DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE  97 

The  boss  of  this  herd  came  over  to  size  us  up 
and  to  find  out  when  we  proposed  to  make  "the 
voyage/'  He  was  particularly  keen  to  see  us  get 
busy,  hoping,  no  doubt,  to  profit  by  our  experience. 
We  were  rather  sensitive  just  then  on  the  subject 
of  short  excursions  on  the  water,  and  after  a  num- 
ber of  his  questions,  we  told  him  that  the  road  was 
always  open,  and  much  more  to  the  same  tune.  He 
gave  us  up  in  despair  and  finally  tackled  the  cook, 
thinking  perhaps  that  he  was  feminine  to- the 
extent  that  he  couldn't  keep  a  secret,  but  he  didn't 
know  that  old  clam  like  we  did.  Cookie  very  con- 
fidentially told  the  *'main  squeeze"  that  we  had 
decided  to  go  around  the  river,  a  little  stroll  of 
some  five  hundred  miles  out  of  our  way.  This 
stunned  the  boss,  so  that  he  withdrew  to  the 
shelter  of  his  own  fig  tree  to  await  developments. 
Early  one  morning  we  stripped  for  action,  as  the 
water  conditions  did  not  improve,  but  kept  getting 
higher.  The  boss  told  the  pointers  that  they  could 
''fire  when  ready,"  and  the  big  swim  was  on.  Our 
variegated  swans  just  sailed  across  the  stream  to 
our  great  glee  and  pride  and  to  the  utter  discom- 
fiture of  the  other  outfit.  Not  to  be  outdone  they 
they  immediately  made  ready  and  plunged  in, 
losing  twenty  head  of  steers  and  two  good  horses. 
We  offered  consolation  by  saying,  ''We  told  you 
about  eating  those  sour  grapes." 


98  DAYS   THAT  ARE   DONE 

We  now  struck  out  in  a  Northerly  direction  for 
Higgins,  Texas,  a  small  town  just  one  mile  from 
the  Oklahoma  line.  The  grass  was  splendid  now 
while  the  water  just  around  in  pools  waited  to 
be  noticed.  We  were  constantly  in  dread  of  letting 
a  ''prairie  fire  get  out,"  which  an  outfit  near  us 
actually  did. 

This  is  a  very  grave  offense  in  that  country, 
very  often  followed  by  an  early  visit  from  the 
Rangers.  We  usually  took  a  shovel  and  made  a 
fire  guard,  on  a  small  scale,  first  before  lighting 
our  campfire.  Then  when  we  had  burned  off  the 
grass  within  the  enclosure,  we  placed  the  fire  in 
the  center  of  the  small  clearing  and  had  no  further 
concern.  Many  times  on  guard  at  night  we  could 
see  the  glare  from  some  great  fire,  which  was 
often  started  by  the  engines  on  the  railroads  and 
even  by  lightning. 

We  reached  the  Box  T.  pasture  on  "a  balmy 
morning  in  June,''  the  twentieth  to  be  exact.  More 
than  six  months,  and  the  longest  ever,  had  rolled 
by  since  we  had  adopted  this  bunch.  As  this  was 
our  journey's  end  we  were  overjoyed  and  wel- 
comed the  Box  T.  boss,  Dick  Barton,  like  a  long- 
lost  brother. 

There  is  water  in  all  creeks  of  any  respectability 
in  Texas,  when  you  get  off  the  Stake  Plains  where 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  99 

the  creeks  grow.  We  struck  the  head  of  such  a 
creek,  Wolf  Creek,  I  think  Dick  called  it,  but  we 
didn't  mind  a  bit  as  we  were  some  ''bears''  our- 
selves. We  soon  came  to  some  deep  blue  holes  of 
water,  and  fish  all  around  the  edges,  gaping  and 
trying  to  make  out  what  we  were.  We  soon  con- 
vinced them  that  a  pelican  hadn't  anything  on  us. 
Cattle  and  all  other  troubles,  either  real  or  imag- 
inary, were  forgotten  while  we  hurriedly  rigged  up 
some  tackle  and  got  busy  hauling  out  those  little 
perch  and  catfish. 

We  worked  the  cook  overtime  with  his  "dutch- 
oven,"  and  there  wasn't  any  "Paradise  lost" 
around  there  just  then.  We  turned  the  cattle 
loose,  as  we  were  now  in  a  real  pasture,  and  as 
there  were  no  long  guards  to  disturb  our  thoughts 
and  slumbers,  we  were  happy. 

I  might  mention  in  passing  that  while  "going 
up  the  trail"  I  had  been  given  first  guard,  and  as  a 
special  distinction,  I  was  permitted  to  get  up  when 
the  cook  did,  just  before  daylight,  to  help  the  horse 
wrangler  round  up  his  charges  and  un-hobble  such 
as  were  too  energetic  and  had  to  be  restrained 
from  leaving  the  country  by  "hobbling."  (If 
in  doubt,  see  Webster.)  Even  yet  at  times  I  have 
visions  of  old  Jim  yanking  back  the  "tarp"  from 
my  face  and  can  hear  his  gentle  voice  saying, 


100  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

''Hosses,  Billy/'  I  was  partly  repaid  by  hearing 
him  once  remark  to  some  of  the  boys  that  ''he  is 
the  easiest  kid  to  wake  I  ever  see."  That  may  be, 
but  I  know  that  the  common  idea  is  that  young 
people  do  not  tire  like  those  who  are  older.  Forget 
that,  as  I  have  been  around  some  older  persons 
who  made  me  very  weary  right  away. 

We  rested  up  on  Wolf  Creek  for  a  number  of 
days,  and  then  having  given  the  new  nurses  "the 
combination,''  we  left  those  Chihuahua  orphans 
and  headed  back  toward  that  distant  Magdalena, 
many  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  southwest. 

We  crossed  the  Pecos  far  to  the  South  of  our 
previous  crossing,  and  passed  Fort  Sumner  on 
July  3rd.  At  this  place  we  were  pointed  out  the 
grave  of  ''Billy  The  Kid,"  as  he  was  known,  his 
real  name  being  William  H.  Boney.  At  the  tender 
age  of  twenty-one  he  had  a  record  of  twenty-one 
men  whom  he  had  killed,  or  an  average  of  one  a 
year.  It  will  be  recalled  by  old-timers  that  he  was 
killed  at  Sumner  by  Pat  Garrett,  another  famous 
gun-fighter,  who  was  later  killed  in  New  Mexico. 

At  any  rate,  the  Kid  is  sleeping  there,  awaiting 
the  final  summons,  and  they  told  us  that  for  many 
years  his  grave  had  been  haunted  by  a  beautiful, 
sad-eyed  Spanish  senorita. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 


101 


After  several  weary  weeks  in  the  saddle,  during 
which  time  we  had  many  exciting  ''happen- 
stances/'  we  finally  pulled  into  the  home  ranch, 
"the  missing  found,  the  fallen  rise/' 

Some  six  weeks  later  we  gathered  a  herd  off  our 
own  ranges,  and  went  right  back  over  the  same 
general  route  as  before,  landing  in  Northern  Texas 
late  in  November. 

Longfellow,  in  his  beautiful  poem,  *'Evan- 
geline,''  has  written,  "Waste  are  those  pleasant 
farms,  and  the  farmers  forever  departed/'  It  is 
even  so  with  the  trail  herds  and  the  cowboys, 
largely.  Even  our  little  band  is  widely  scattered ; 
several  of  them  are  at  rest  beneath  the  sod,  wait- 
ing the  call  to  the  final  "Great  Roundup,"  far  out 
on  the  "Crystal  Sea." 


^}ilv 


TfH 


\<j*:riculttire. 


f'^.Ui  ■///..  Ui 


DIFFERENT  BRANDS 


The  Passing  of  the  Cowboy 

OR  introducing  my  subject,  I  will 
explain  that  the  word  ''cowboy''  as  used 
in  the  sense  in  which  I  will  use  it,  does 
|i  not  signify  a  creature  like  the  ancient 
Greek  myth,  Pegasus  the  winged  half 
man,  half  horse.  By  ''cowboy''  I  mean  he  of  the 
broad  sombrero,  high-heeled  boots  and  long- 
handled  spurs,  whose  trade  was  cinching  saddles, 
and  pulling  bridle  reins. 

This  party  was  often  referred  to  as  a  "cow- 
puncher,"  no  doubt  from  the  "prod-poles,"  which 
were  freely  used  when  the  cattle  were  being 
loaded,  and  many  unruly  steers  were  often  liter- 
ally "punched"  right  up  the  chute  and  into  the  car, 
while  the  door  of  the  car  was  hurriedly  slid  into 
place. 

"Cow-slave"  was  another  term  of  endearment, 
but  not  often  used  in  this  land  of  the  free.  I  might 
add,  and  this  may  cause  some  surprise,  that  the 
cowboy  was  part  human,  though  some  may  doubt 
this  statement. 

I  remember  once  hearing  a  nice  precise  lady 
say  "Those  awful,  impossible  cowboys!     Do  you 


104  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

know,  Mrs.  Grahammer-Steaurt,  that  they  will 
actually  lie  right  down  on  their  fronts  and  drink 
from  some  stream  until  they  can  scarcely  stand, 
and  some  will  even  permit  their  horses  to  drink 
from  the  same  source."  She  might  have  truthfully 
stated  that  when  they  rose  up  from  the  deep 
draught  of  clear,  cold  water,  some  would  commit 
the  heinous  crime  of  wiping  the  mouth  with  the 
back  of  the  hand.  There  were  exceptions  ;a  few 
had  handkerchiefs. 

The  cowboy  was  most  generally  a  gentleman 
where  the  gentler  sex  was  concerned,  and  while 
he  might  use  words  which  would  raise  blisters, 
when  safe  in  the  fastness  of  the  hills  and  the  occa- 
sion seemed  to  require  such  treatment,  his  general 
conduct  was  much  more  chivalrous  than  we  hear 
of  among  *'the  upper  ten.''  He  might  and  gener- 
ally did,  if  the  supply  of  ''tanglefoot''  held  out, 
when  striking  town  after  a  long  siege  in  the  silent 
places,  get  ''all  lit  up."  I  heard  oi;ie  puncher  sum 
up  the  whole  situation.  Filling  up  his  first  glass 
he  held  it  up  and  looking  through  it  he  remarked, 
"There  are  a  thousand  reasons  why  I  shouldn't 
drink  that  poison,  but  I  can't  remember  one  of 
them  just  now,  so  here's  looking  at  you."  He 
would  risk  his  money  against  the  other  fellow's 
in  poker,  monte,  roulette,  mumble-peg  or  horse- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  105 

racing,  or  he  might  bet  on  just  how  far  a  certain 
frog  could  jump.  Their  forms  of  amusement  were 
quite  limited,  in  fact,  I  never  have  heard  of  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  for  weary  soul-starved  cowboys. 
Their  entertainment  and  enlightenment  was  left 
to  the  saloons,  and  these  worked  heroically  thirty- 
six  hours  a  day  to  meet  the  burden  imposed  upon 
them  by  this  charitable  work. 

This  reminds  me  of  the  embittered  cowboy  who 
had  at  one  time  seen  the  inside  of  a  school-house ; 
this  sometimes  happened  in  their  tender  youth, 
''back  home.''  This  fellow  tried  desperately  to 
couple  his  thoughts  into  a  train  and  while  I  don't 
remember  his  song,  the  substance  was  that  he  was 
in  town  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  but  he  didn't  know 
that  it  was  Sunday,  as  all  days  were  the  same  to 
him.  Hearing  a  bell  tolling,  he  couldn't  figure  out 
what  it  meant,  so  strolled  over  and  noticing  others 
going  inside  he  slowly  walked  in,  hat,  leggings, 
boots  and  spurs.  After  a  long  minute  he  removed 
his  hat  and  whispered  to  himself, 

''It  makes  me  think  of  olden  times, 

Way  back  in  Tennessee; 
When  mother  used  to  go  to  church, 
With  little  sis  and  me." 

He  hesitatingly  sat  down  upon  a  bench,  while 
the  be-starched,  be-ruffled  lady  who  sat  thereon, 


106  DAYS   THAT  ARE  DONE 

at  once  arose  and  moved  to  the  other  side  of  the 
room.  Remarking  on  this  he  said  that  "they 
seemed  to  think  my  leggings,  some  horrid  wicked 
thing." 

I  am  not  exactly  trying  to  defend  or  excuse  the 
cowboy,  as  he  was  often  inexcusable,  but  there  was 
the  other  side,  the  fact  that  there  were  no  home 
ties,  no  one  to  care,  for  he  was  only  a  wandering, 
homeless  cowboy.  Here  today,  gone  tomorrow. 
His  worldly  goods  often  consisted  of  a  saddle, 
bridle  and  spurs,  often  not  even  those.  If  he  was 
in  the  aristocrat  class  he  might  own  in  addition 
a  saddle  horse,  and  sometimes  an  extra  horse,  on 
which  his  "sougans''  and  "war-bag,''  plainly,  his 
bed  and  few  clothes,  could  be  packed  and  tied  on 
with  a  "diamond  hitch.''    Some  class. 

The  ranks  of  the  cowboy  were  recruited  from 
men  in  all  walks  of  life,  to  whom  the  "wanderlust 
spirit"  had  beckoned,  or  they  might  be  (and  often 
were)  boys  who  had  gotten  into  some  minor  trou- 
ble or  "scrape"  back  home  and  took  delight  in 
being  on  "the  dodge."  A  few  were  real  honest- 
to-goodness  bad  men,  gun-fighters  with  assumed 
names  and  very  quiet  manners,  who  were  just  as 
safe  to  take  liberties  with  as  a  coiled  rattlesnake. 
These  chaps  were  most  generally  quiet,  watchful 
men,  with  a  six-shooter  always  in  attendance  and 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  107 

carried  'Texas  style/'  in  a  holster  under  the  left 
arm.  Such  a  man  had  nothing  to  say  of  his  past, 
exploits  or  prowess,  but  the  fellow  who  was  con- 
tinually ''blowing''  about  his  ability,  courage  and 
skill  was  filed  in  the  harmless  "pigeon-hole"  on 
the  theory  that  babbling  brooks  are  not  very  deep. 

This  dispensation  of  hot-air  is  practiced  in 
many  professions,  among  which  might  be  found 
the  book  agent  and  real  estate  merchant,  but  the 
cowboy  is  master  of  the  science.  During  the  day 
on  some  long  ride  or  "drive,"  or  in  the  evening 
around  the  campfire,  he  of  the  "leather  lungs  and 
unlimited  gall"  was  in  his  glory. 

This  brings  to  my  mind  a  time  when  we  were 
rounding  up  our  range,  and  our  regular  cook  being 
in  town  on  a  'fspree,"  we  were  somewhat  handi- 
capped as  we  were  short-handed  anyway,  and 
could  not  spare  a  rider  to  act  as  "chef."  This  hon- 
orable position  did  not  carry  the  honor  which  you 
might  suppose — -in  our  case  we  voted  that  home 
did  not  amount  to  much  without  a  mother,  or  at 
least  a  cook.  Very  few  men  really  wanted  to  cook, 
but  all  felt  certain  that  they  had  a  special  gift  in 
the  riding  line. 

I  sent  into  town  for  a  good  cook,  pronto,  and 
about  noon  out  came  a  livery  rig  bearing  a  party 
who  had  some  difficulty  in  climbing  out  over  the 


108  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

wheel.  He  finally  reached  earth,  thumped  his 
chest  and  proclaimed  that  he  was  ''some  cook,  but 
a  better  rider/'  I  soon  discovered  that  he  had  a 
most  wonderful  "jag"  on  board  and  had  brought 
along  enough  embalming  fluid  to  keep  him  pickled 
for  a  week  at  least.  I  asked  him,  brutally,  if  he 
could  cook. 

Looking  scornfully  about  he  said,  "I  can  loeat 
anything  I  have  seen  around  here.  Why  I  used  to 
cook  for  forty  men  and  shoe  all  the  horses  in  be- 
tween meals  to  keep  from  getting  lonesome."  The 
seventy-five  points  which  he  went  down  in  my  esti- 
mation, added  to  the  twenty-five  demerits  which  I 
had  already  mentally  tacked  onto  him  settled  the 
case.  I  humbly  invited  him  to  partake  of  our 
lowly  culinary  effort,  as  it  was  that  time  of  day, 
and  then  to  return  to  town  with  the  returning 
liveryman,  as  I  was  certain  that  his  talent  would 
be  wasted  on  us. 

Cowboys  were  divided  into  several  classes,  as  is 
most  often  the  case  in  all  lines.  Some  would  be 
noted  for  fine  roping,  others  excelled  in  riding  and 
the  handling  of  ''bad  ones."  Still  another  would 
stand  out  in  relief  for  his  ability  to  drink  all  the 
''tanglefoot"  in  sight  and  get  away  with  it. 

A  very  few  would  be  noted  for  their  indiffer- 
ence to  hard  labor  about  the  ranch,  such  as  build- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  109 

ing  corrals,  mending  fences,  cutting  wood  or 
repairing  water-troughs.  Don't  think  that  the 
cowboy  was  necessarily  lazy ;  if  there  is  anything 
harder  or  more  tiring  than  to  sit  on  the  hurricane 
deck  of  a  Spanish  pony  for  twenty  hours  at  a 
stretch,  without  rest,  food  or  water,  I  don't  care 
to  meet  up  with  it.  The  boys  would  ride  from  "A 
to  Z"  at  any  time  of  the  day  or  night,  or  would 
cheerfully  roll  the  two  into  one,  but  felt  it  beneath 
their  dignity  to  do  anything  on  foot;  in  fact,  the 
high-heeled  boots  were  not  suited  for  long-winded 
"Marathons." 

In  the  roping  class  were  men  who  could  ride 
into  a  corral  full  of  "milling,"  bawling,  hooking 
cattle  and  bring  forth  any  one  of  them,  by  the 
head,  around  the  neck,  or  by  either  one  or  both 
hind  feet.  Just  any  way  to  please.  This  sounds 
easy,  and  looks  perfectly  simple,  but  it  isn't.  The 
would-be  roper  would  go  riding  in,  swinging  a  loop 
big  enough  to  encircle  the  whole  herd,  "scaring" 
and  putting  the  cattle  into  an  uproar.  When  he 
finally  secured  his  consent  to  "throw"  he  would 
likely  get  from  one  to  three  heads  and  feet  in  his 
"what-not."  Then  the  boss  would  hand  him  some 
left-handed  compliments. 

The  branding  fire  was  usually  built  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  corral,  or  if  a  round  corral,  near  the 


110  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

center.  The  ''frame''  of  this  fire  was  made  of 
large  logs,  preferably  of  green  oak,  so  it  wouldn't 
burn  down  too  soon.  In  between  was  smaller  dry 
wood,  and  where  the  ''business"  end  of  the  long- 
handled  branding  irons  were  thrust.  After  the 
fire  had  been  burning  "and  fanned  by  the  breeze" 
for  about  half  an  hour,  one  of  the  "branders" 
would  pick  up  a  "gunny-sack"  to  protect  his  hands, 
pull  out  an  iron  from  the  fire  and  if  it  looked  white 
he  would  yell  "Hot  irons. '^  The  roper  would  be  all 
ready,  with  his  saddle  tightly  "cinched"  on  some 
strong  gentle  horse,  and  with  his  rope  shortened 
by  almost  half  to  keep  from  losing  time  handling 
so  much  rope,  which  was  not  needed  in  the  con- 
fines of  an  ordinary  corral.  Riding  near  some 
solemn-eyed  calf,  the  artist  would  flip  his  loop 
with  a  Quick  snap,  and  turn  for  the  fire,  with  the 
calf  settine  back  behind,  bawling  and  plowing  up 
the  ground  with  his  outstretched  feet.  Out  from 
the  fence  would  dart  a  couple  of  "flankers,"  who 
always  worked  in  pairs,  each  pair  anxious  to 
demonstrate  the  superiority  of  their  method  of 
"going  to  the  earth  with  them."  When  the  calf 
was  flopped  on  the  ground,  one  "flanker"  climbed 
on  the  patient's  head  while  the  other  grabbed  a 
piston-like  hind  leg,  sat  down  flat  and  hune  on  like 
grim-  death.    The  rope  was  quickly  jerked  off  by 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  111 

the  man  at  the  head,  while  the  roper  yelled  "Half 
circle  cross,''  or  perhaps,  "Double  H,"  for  the 
benefit  of  the  brander,  who  would  be  hurrying  for- 
ward with  a  sizzling  iron  in  hand.  It  was  pretty 
awful,  of  course.  Yes,  we  were  brutes,  but  it  was 
soon  over  and  felt  better  when  it  stopped  hurting. 

Branding  seemed  necessary,  as  we  had  no  other 
means  of  identifying  our  cattle  from  the  other  fel- 
low's. There  was  also  an  earmark,  but  this  was 
subject  to  change  without  notice,  as  was  the  brand 
also,  sometimes. 

Branding  is  harder,  dustier,  more  dangerous 
and  exciting  work  than  harvesting  ever  was,  as 
some  of  the  cows  would  resent  the  liberties  taken 
with  their  calves  and  would  often  charge  us  with 
lowered  horns  and  bawling  "bloody  murder."  I 
have  seen  some  beautiful  handicap  races  for  the 
fence,  which  seemed  "so  near  and  yet  so  far." 
However,  the  bulls  were  the  most  dangerous,  and 
we  generally  banished  them  from  our  "branding 
bees." 

I  have  enlarged  on  the  riding  art  elsewhere,  but 
I  may  say  that  all  cow-punchers  were  supposed  to 
be  able  to  ride  well,  or  at  least  show  that  they 
could  "set  in  a  wagon  without  the  sideboards  on." 
Some  took  great  pride  in  their  riding,  never  miss- 
ing an  opportunity  to  ride  any  horse  that  looked 


112  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

as  though  he  would  ''pitch."  By  ''pitch/'  I  don't 
refer  to  any  sticky,  black  substance,  but  in  this 
sense  it  applies  to  the  gyrations  of  some  double- 
action,  end-swapping  ball  of  horse  flesh.  When  a 
rider  reached  the  "slick  riding"  class,  when  he 
could  calmly  sit  in  the  saddle  smoking  a  cigarette 
during  these  evolutions,  without  "pulling  leather" 
or  "choking  the  saddle-horn,"  or  hanging  back  on 
a  "bucking  strap,"  then  there  was  hopes  of  him 
some  day  making  a  real  rider.  Confidence  was  a 
most  valuable  asset,  but  just  because  a  puncher 
,  said  that  he  could  "ride  any  horse  that  wore  hair," 
it  didn't  necessarily  follow  that  he  could. 

Many  "broncho  twisters"  were  hurt  in  riding 
mean  horses ;  esnecially  if  the  horse  had  a  touch  of 
"loco"  he  was  dangerous,  as  in  that  event  he  was 
as  likely  to  fall  straight  backward  as  to  go  for- 
ward. 

I  remember  one  cold  winter  morning,  when  the 
ground  was  frozen  and  rang  hollowly,  like  a  muf- 
fled gong  when  the  horse's  "iron-clad  feet  passed 
over  it;  on  this  particular  morning  the  "double 
H"  horse-wrangler  saddled  a  "locoed  skate"  and 
climbed  on  deck.  The  old  cow-horse  gave  a  snort 
or  two,  trying  to  get  his  head  so  that  he  could 
demonstrate  his  style  of  "pitching,"  but  the 
"wrangler"  was  new  to  our  country  and  not  wise 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  113 

to  ''locoed''  horses.  Instead  of  letting  him  pitch, 
he  pulled  the  horse  up  short,  so  they  went  over 
backward,  the  ''cantle''  of  the  saddle  striking  the 
boy  and  breaking  a  leg  up  near  his  body,  while  as 
second  course,  the  horse  stepped  all  over  him  when 
he  arose  minus  his  rider.  While  the  young 
puncher  lay  there  groaning,  the  boss  came  running 
up  and  whipped  out  his  knife,  to  rip  up  the  unfor- 
tunate cowboy's  pant's  leg,  before  the  swelling 
began.  The  boy  at  once  yelled  pleadingly,  "Don't 
cut  ihy  leg  off.  Brown ;  don't  cut  it  off."  I  don't 
know  where  this  chap  was  from,  but  this  imme- 
diate operation  stuff  struck  us  as  something  new. 
We  carried  him  into  the  ranch  house,  tore  the 
sides  from  a  ''White  King"  soap  box  and  soon  had 
some  wonderful  antiseptic  splints  on  the  job.  By 
the  liberal  application  of  "mustang  liniment" 
(mustang  meaning  to  be  or  make  wild) ,  we  had 
him  going  in  about  two  months,  but  that  leg  was 
an  inch  or  so  shorter  than  the  other.  Such  was 
the  history  of  the  cow-country;  Red  Cross  of 
today  was  unheard  of,  at  least  by  us. 

As  to  the  next  class,  the  "boozefighter,"  I  think 
we  will  touch  lightly  on  this  point,  as  such  a  party 
was  no  credit  or  honor  to  the  profession,  and  very 
poor  entertainment,  except  to  himself.  He  would 
likely  get  up  "the  morning  after,"  feel  tenderly 


114  DAYS   THAT  ARE  DONE 

of  his  throbbing  head  and  say,  '1  sure  must  have 
had  one  great  time/'  These  fellows  who  made 
"nose  paint''  a  specialty,  were  divided  into  at  least 
three  classes ;  the  unsteady  ''warrior,"  who  would 
glaringly  proclaim,  'Tm  the  outfightenist  son-of- 
a-gun  unhung;"  class  two  held  the  bar-top  orator, 
while  the  third  was  the  heart-broken  chap  who 
insisted  in  hanging  onto  your  neck  and  weeping 
into  your  shirt  bosom.  The  latter  was  as  tiresome 
as  the  first.  Some  of  these  men  claimed  to  be 
working  in  the  prohibition  cause,  and  were  smiply 
trying  to  drink  up  all  the  liquor  to  keep,  as  they 
said,  "some  other  fellow  from  having  to  drink  it." 
Many  of  the  boys  would  come  in  from  the  wilds 
after  an  absence  of  several  months ;  all  hands 
always  came  in  at  shipping  time,  at  least.  After 
the  cattle  were  loaded  into  the  cars  and  headed  for 
Colorado  or  Kansas,  the  common  and  proper  thing 
to  say  was,  "Let's  go  get  something  to  cut  the 
dust ;  my  throat  feels  like  a  piece  of  old  rawhide." 
That  was  the  beginning  for  some,  and  the  end 
came  when  their  last  "quarter"  was  gone  and  they 
were  kicked  out  into  the  street.  The  gimlet-eyed, 
diamond-encrusted  gambler  was  always  in  evi- 
dence, and  his  business  always  looked  up  at  ship- 
ping time.  Sometimes  the  card  and  roulette  games 
would  run  uninterruptedly  for  two  or  three  days 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  115 

and  nights,  when  the  hollow-eyed  punchers  would 
be  ''broke/'  while  the  equally  hollow-eyed  gambler 
counted  his  harvest  through  blurred  eyes.  Some 
of  the  "non-drink''  punchers  made  the  gambler's 
position  quite  trying,  as  they  "kept  cases"  on  him 
too  closely  for  any  cheating  to  be  done.  Cheating 
was  a  serious  malady,  and  the  remedy  was  gener- 
ally quick  and  most  effective.  Some  of  the  sober 
"lambs"  would  sometimes  shear  the  "lion,"  but 
this  was  a  rare  occurrence. 

I  remember  one  morning,  after  one  of  these 
miserable  "jamborees,"  one  of  the  boys  got  slowly 
up  from  his  bed,  and  a  most  woe-begone  picture  he 
made.  The  old  cook,  a  kind-hearted  chap,  with 
an  exterior  like  a  chestnut-burr,  solicitously  asked 
the  "world-weary"  puncher  to  have  some  break- 
fast, or  "some  coffee  at  least."  The  cowboy  said 
in  a  subdued  voice,  "Well,  Cookie,  give  me  about 
ten  grains  of  oiatmeal  and  put  some  stickers  on  to 
keep  it  down ;  and  say.  Cookie,  look  pleasant  if  you 
can,  because  I  feel  like  hell  this  morning." 

We  had  yet  another  class  of  the  "cow-punching 
science,"  and  this  branch  was  never  crowded.  This 
was  the  "brush-hands"  division,  and  was  made  up 
of  a  few  reckless  dare-devils  who  had  the  rare 
ability  of  being  able  to  ride  just  a  little  faster  in 
among  thick  brush,  fallen  timber  and  washouts 


116  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

than  they  could  out  in  the  open  country.  Wild 
cattle  generally  grazed  in  some  glade,  handy  to  a 
rough,  thickly  timbered  country.  At  the  first 
alarm  away  they  would  fly,  with  rocks  rattling 
and  brush  '*a  Dopping/'  Then  ye  brush-hand 
would  let  out  his  steed  and  when  the  cattle  came 
to  some  small  onening,  the  puncher  would  be 
there  waiting  for  them,  or  he  might  have  his  roue 
on  the  biggest,  ''rollickesf'  steer  in  the  bunch, 
"right  around  his  eauator.''  In  a  few  minutes  the 
"near''  brush-hands  would  come  stringing  in 
unloading  brush  and  limbs  from  about  their  necks 
while  thev  nursed  sundry  bruises  and  scratches 
and  fluently  "cussed"  cattle  in  general  and  wild 
ones  in  particular. 

Some  of  the  feats  of  horsemanshio  which  a  top 
"brush-hand''  unconcernedly  Dulled  oflf  almost 
every  day  would  make  the  "movie"  or  circus  stunts 
look  like  "two-bits."  The  hills  and  trees  tell  no 
secrets,  except  to  the  few  who  are  right  there  to 
look  and  listen ;  without  doubt  the  most  wonderful 
voice  in  the  world  is  that  of  the  wind  when  it  sighs 
through  the  pines  just  at  night- fall.  Many  reck- 
less cowboys  are  sleeping  the  eternal  sleep  there 
in  the  hills  contrary  to  the  dying  cowboy's  song. 
Bury  me  there  on  the  lone  prairie, 
Where  the  wild  coyote  may  howl  o'er  me. 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  117 

The  puncher  was  generally  the  most  cheerful 
and  care  free  of  men ;  you  would  think,  to  hear  him 
talk,  whistle,  sing  and  yell  that  he  had  nothing  on 
his  mind  but  his  hat.  I  am  certain  that  politics  or 
the  heathen  in  Africa  lost  him  no  sleep,  The 
cowboy  was  almost  invariably  an  optimist,  but 
there  were  a  few  scattering  ''grouches/'  Some 
happy  puncher,  with  his  ''John  B''  pushed  way 
back  on  his  head,  might  pause  from  his  whistling 
or  singing  long  enough  to  inquire,  ''Ain't  she  a  fine 
large  day,  old-timers?''  The  natural  born  pessi- 
mist, he  with  both  hands  full'  of  wet  sawdust, 
would  come  out  of  his  shell  long  enough  to  gloom- 
ily say,  "Aw,  I  don't  know ;  I'll  betche  it's  raining 
somewhere."  Even  the  old  cook  had  his  little  line 
of  good  cheer.  When  we  were  honored  with  com- 
pany in  the  person  of  some  "tenderfoot,"  and  our 
"chuck"  was  ready  for  attention.  Cookie  would 
sudenly  yell,  "Climb  the  wagon-wheel,  stranger; 
I'm  going  to  turn  these  'savages'  loose."  (He 
didn't  always  say  "savages,"  but  let  it  go  at  that.) 

This  was  a  stock  joke,  and  no  outfit  was  com- 
plete without  it.  I  remember  one  trustful  chap 
actually  started  to  climb  up  out  of  danger,  to  the 
great  glee  of  the  watching  punchers,  who  felt 
quite  complimented  in  being  thought  fierce.  The 
cook  might  then  walk  over  to  the  "company"  and 


118  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

gently  ask  in  his  very  best  manner,  while  he  wiped 
his  hands  on  a  near-white  dish  towel,  '*Will  you 
have  tea  or  coffee?''  If  the  guest  fell  for  coffee, 
all  right;  but  if  he  should  say,  '1  would  like  a  cup 
of  weak  tea,  if  you  please,''  Cookie  would  snap, 
**Like  hell :  you'll  drink  coffee.  That's  all  we  got." 
And  so  it  went. 

The  cowboy,  the  Simon-pure  article,  belongs  to 
the  yesterdays,  largely.  There  are  a  few  small 
herds  of  cattle  left,  but  conditions  are  very  differ- 
ent to  the  old  days.  The  '^cowboy"  of  today  wears 
a  straw  hat,  bib  overalls  and  high-toppeed  miners' 
shoes,  while  he  recklessly  pitch-forks  the  hay  out 
to  a  few  gentle  old  '^bossies." 

In  pondering  on  the  final  Great  Round-up,  a 
verse  from  the  ''Cowboy's  Prayer"  comes  to  my 
mind — 
''Last  night  as  I  lay  on  the  prairie, 

I  looked  up  at  the  stars  in  the  sky ; 
And  wondered  if  ever  a  cowboy. 

Would   'drift'  to  that  Sweet  Bye-and-Bye." 

And  when  our  time  shall  come,  Tom,  and  we  are 

called  to  go, 
I  hope  they'll  lay  us  where  we   "played,"  just 

twenty  years  ago. 

— Anonymous. 


The  Passing  of  the  Cow-pony 

HE  passing  of  the  cowboy  has  been 
reviewed  elsewhere,  but  very  little  has 
been  said  of  his  most  faithful  companion 
on  many  a  wild  chase,  viz.;  the  cow- 
pony.  Inasmuch  as  "these  twain"  are 
as  nearly  inseparable  as  is  possible  in  this  uncer- 
tain life  we  live,  deserving  of  almost  equal  honors, 
or  at  least  notice,  ye  cowboy  is  immortalized  ( ?) 
in  verse  and  song  while  the  power  which  gets  him 
there  and  back  is  ignored.  A  very  clear  case  of 
"class  legislation." 

The  cow-horse  generally  used  in  the  West  was 
of  a  rather  light  build,  or  at  least  they  seemed  so 
to  those  who  were  accustomed  to  heavy  horses. 
The  surprise  came  after  a  hard  day's  ride  through 
the  mountains  with  the  eternal  brush,  ravines, 
washouts,  beds  of  sliding  rock,  etc.,  always  in 
attendance.  The  tough,  wiry  pony  would  come  in 
stepping  high  while  the  steed  of  the  stranger 
from  "the  States"  perhaps,  would  be  "all  in."  It 
was  a  proven  and  well  known  fact  that  the  lighter 
horse  could  travel  farther  in  less  time  and  arrive 
in  better  condition  than  his  well-bred  cousin  from 


122  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

Kansas  or  Missouri.  On  our  ranches  we  preferred 
horses  weighing  from  800  to  950  pounds,  with 
good  straight  legs  and  back,  and  not  too  high  in 
the  withers.  Color  was  of  no  importance,  though 
personally  I  preferred  a  dark  bay  or  black,  the 
greys  being  at  the  foot  of  the  list,  as  they  were 
hard  to  keep  in  the  original  color.  Sweat  and  the 
dyes  from  the  Navajo  saddle  blankets  generally 
converted  the  grey  horse  into  a  regular  walking 
sunset,  after  about  one  hard  day's  ride. 

These  horses  were  for  the  most  part  raised  on 
our  own  ranges,  or  at  least  in  the  surrounding 
country  nearby.  Almost  every  outfit  in  the  old 
days  had  their  bunch  of  "broom-tails,''  as  the 
bunches  of  mares  and  colts  were  affectionately 
spoken  of.  We  found  that  the  horses  raised  right 
on  the  ground  were  superior  to  any  which  might 
be  imported,  as  in  the  case  of  New  Mexico,  they 
seemed  to  absorb  just  enough  of  the  Spanish  to  put 
some  ginger  into  them,  or  it  may  be  that  they  lived 
nearer  to  His  Satanic  Majesty  there.  At  any  rate 
they  were  always  on  the  job  and  would  bear  watch- 
ing, especially  when  you  had  every  reason  to  think 
that  they  must  be  completely  ''played  out." 

We  used  to  get  some  good  horses  from  Colorado, 
but  they  were  a  trifle  too  heavy  and  clumsy ;  they 
couldn't  jump  as  high  as  our  horses  could  by  sev- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  123 

eral  feet,  especially  when  taking  the  morning  "ex- 
ercise/' 

The  cow-pony's  education  generally  began  when 
he  was  from  three  to  four  years  old,  usually  taking 
several  seasons  to  turn  out  an  all  around  good  cow- 
horse,  as  he  would  forget  quite  a  bit  of  his  primary 
work  during  the  long  winter  months  when  he  was 
at  liberty  to  roam  among  the  hills  at  his  pleasure. 

It  was  desirable  to  break  him  gentle,  so  he 
wouldn't  ''pitch,"  but  if  he  just  couldn't  forget  or 
forswear  that  pleasure,  well,  it  didn't  matter 
greatly.  Boys  will  be  boys.  However,  and  it 'was 
to  be  insisted  on,  he  must  learn  to  stand  when  his 
rider  dismounted  and  dropped  the  bridle  reins 
upon  the  ground.  It  was  equally  important  that 
he  know  all  about  "roping"  and  holding  anything 
which  might  be  roped,  from  a  mesquite  bush  to  a 
brindle  bull,  while  his  rider  dismounted  and  at- 
tended to  the  customer.  At  this  point  in  the  games 
he  was  expected  to  set  back  on  the  rope,  which  was 
always  fastened  securely  to  the  saddle  horn,  and 
he  was  not  expected  to  try  to  "quit  the  fiats,"  drag- 
ging the  bull  and  leaving  his  rider.  This  would 
be  quite  a  contract  and  bad  form,  anyway.  The 
horse,  after  a  few  experiences  of  being  turned 
loose  with  a  yearling  on  the  end  of  the  rope,  was 
very  likely  to  discover  that  if  he  permitted  his 


124  DAYS   THAT  ARE  DONE 

victim  to  run  to  the  end  of  the  rope  straight  out  to 
one  side,  the  chances  were  in  favor  of  him  hitting 
the  sod  on  his  back,  and  he  soon  learned  to  keep 
his  head  and  eyes  on  the  plunging,  bav^ling  animal 
at  the  other  end  of  the  rope. 

Most  of  the  well-broken  horses  would  stand  for 
hours  or  as  long  as  the  reins  were  trailing  on  the 
ground  only  wandering  away  a  few  yards,  nib- 
bling at  the  bunches  of  grass. 

In  some  of  the  *'blood  and  thunder''  stuff  we 
sometimes  read  the  trusty  steed  always  comes 
when  ''Alkali  Ike''  whistles,  but  it's  not  so  in  real 
life,  outside  of  perhaps  a  few  trained  circus  horses, 
with  a  long  whip  in  attendance.  We  had  a  ''post- 
graduate" class  of  horses,  known  as  "whip  broke," 
— you  were  supposed  to  snap  the  fingers,  either 
hand,  and  he  was  supposed  to  march  cheerfully  up 
and  stick  out  his  nose  for  the  bridle  to  be  put  on, 
or  it  was  intended  that  this  prize  pupil  would  fol- 
low you  about  the  corral  at  your  pleasure.  I  have 
made  them  do  those  same  things,  when  I  had  the 
whip,  but  soon  discovered  that  ye  wise  old  scout 
knew  just  when  I  didn't  have  the  whip;  then  he 
would  dash  in  back  of  the  other  horses  and  was 
the  meanest  one  in  the  bunch  to  catch.  Who  wants 
to  carry  a  whip  all  the  time,  anyway? 

The  general  idea  and  practice  prevailing  was 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  125 

that  a  puncher  must  walk  into  the  horse  corral 
with  a  half-inch  manilla  cable,  and  with  a  couple 
of  California  twists  (apologies)  dash  it  upon  his 
mount's  shrinking  neck,  no  matter  if  the  horse 
was  twenty-four  years  old,  gray  in  the  service, 
and  gentle.  Many  outfits  practiced  this  spectac- 
ular stunt,  but  we  always  frowned  upon  the  cus- 
tom, when  dealing  with  fairly  gentle  horses.  We 
preferred  to  ''walk  up''  to  them,  and  slip  on  the 
bridle  without  any  fuss  or  flurry. 

Of  course,  there 'were  horses  that  had  to  be 
roped,  and  sometimes  it  took  seven  men  and  the 
cook  to  drag  them  forth ;  at  such  times  much  hard 
language  was  indulged  in,  and  of  course  all  looked 
forward  to  interesting  developments  very  shortly. 
After  the  bridle,  saddle  blankets  and  saddle  were 
belted,  buckled  and  laced  into  place,  you  would 
naturally  expect  to  see  the  horse  somewhat 
reduced,  but  it  would  be  the  contrary.  That  horse 
would  be  swelled  up  to  about  twice  his  normal  size 
(some  rage),  and  the  few  steps  he  might  be  per- 
mitted to  take  would  be  stiff-legged,  as  though  all 
of  his  pins  were  of  wood.  This  was  done  to  en- 
courage the  puncher  into  climbing  aboard,  when 
he  would  discover  that  every  leg  was  double  com- 
pound jointed,  three  speeds  to  the  great  forward 
and  reverse  satisfaction  of  the  horse  and  the 
glee  of  the  watching  cowboys. 


126  DAYS   THAT  ARE  DONE 

I  recall  one  incident,  having  to  do  with  riding, 
which  struck  me  as  a  clear  case  of  misplaced  con- 
fidence. Johnnie  Davenport  had  saddled  up  a  long- 
legged  bay,  under  protest  from  both  sides.  This 
horse  had  a  reputation  of  being  able  to  "go  up 
among  the  clouds,''  and  Johnnie  rather  stood  in 
awe  of  his  high-stepping  qualities ;  he  said  that  it 
always  made  him  seasick  to  see,  even  a  girl  shake 
a  tablecloth.  After  getting  the  horse  saddled, 
Davenport  hesitatingly  climbed  on  deck,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  ease  the  horse  away,  instead  of  introduc- 
ing him  to  the  spurs  ''right  now."  This  easing 
process  is  known  as  "letting  the  hammer  down," 
and  sometimes  saves  a  premature  departure.  The 
wily  old  cow-horse  started  meekly  away,  and  after 
a  few  deep  breaths,  Johnnie  decided  that  all  bets 
were  off  for  that  day  and  announced,  "Oh,  I've  got 
him  faded  all  right;  he  knows  who's  who.'"  The 
horse  may  have  understood,  and  decided  to  reverse 
the  opinion  just  handed  down.  At  any  rate  he 
promptly  stuck  his  head  between  his  front  feet, 
humped  his  back  like  a  mad  cat  and  began  taking 
twenty-foot  stiff-legged  jumps,  calculated  to  let  a 
puncher  know  that  there  is  a  storm  upon  the  deep. 
After  about  three  of  these  terrific  jumps  had 
struck  Davenport,  he  discovered  that  his  transpor- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  127 

tation  had  run  out,  and  "he  came  back  to  us/' 
Raising  up  on  one  elbow  and  looking  after  the 
fleeing  horse,  he  stated,  ''He  throwed  me.''  This 
was  quite  apparent  to  the  wildly  enthusiastic  audi- 
ence ;  there  was  no  argument  or  draw  decision  on 
that  point.  To  set  Johnnie  at  ease  and  relieve  him 
from  embarrassment,  I  heard  one  of  the  punchers 
remark :  ''A  certain  party  rides  about  like  a  sack 
of  salt  I  once  saw  stuck  up  on  an  old  "skate."  I've 
got  a  dear  old  maiden  aunt  who  could  beat  that 
kind  of  riding  without  half  trying." 

Nearly  every  morning,  when  starting  out,  we 
would  have  the  treat  of  seeing  some  puncher  earn- 
estly riding  his  very  best,  as  it  was  quite  disgrace- 
ful to  be  thrown  or  "throwed."  A  horse  that  could 
"pile  up"  several  good  riders  acquired  a  reputa- 
tion like  a  successful  prize-fighter;  in  fact,  we 
called  professional  riders  "broncho  fighters," 
"broncho  busters,"  or  "peelers."  Some  very  cun- 
ning horses  would  not  "pitch"  just  at  first,  when 
you  expected  them  to,  but  later  in  the  day,  when 
your  thoughts  were  miles  away,  probably  intent 
on  a  certain  gingham  apron,  sleeves  rolled  up, 
dimples  on  the  elbows,  etc.,  a  bird  would  suddenly 
fly  up  or  a  jackrabbit  would  spring  forth  in  im- 
mense bounds,  and  the  dance  was  on.  This  unpre- 
paredness  stunt  often  ended  to  the  very  eminent 


128  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

satisfaction  of  the  horse,  no  doubt,  judging  from 
results. 

After  passing  through  all  these  frivolous  stages, 
some  horses  that  developed  extra  intelligence, 
speed,  and  quickness  and  settled  down  to  steady 
work,  were  trained  as  "cutting"  or  "chop  horses." 
Such  a  horse  was  used  for  cutting  out  from  the 
great  herds  whicTi  were  -rounded  up,  the  cattle 
desired  to  be  held;  steers,  strays,  beef  cattle  or 
cows  and  calves,  as  the  case  might  be.  Some  of 
the  "chop  horses"  became  marvels  of  intelligence. 
I  have  ridden  horses  that  a  cow  could  no  more  out- 
dodge  than  she  could  "shake  her  skin."  Once  the 
horse  saw  just  which  animal  you  were  after,  when 
you  came  to  the  edge  of  the  herd  where  the  cattle 
were  not  packed  so  densely,  he  would  do  the  rest 
by  a  series  of  quick  jumps,  ahead,  back  and  on 
both  sides.  The  "cut"  or  cattle  already  separated, 
was  always  held  as  near  as  possible  to  the  main 
herd;  when  the  cow  or  steer  saw  this  delegation 
they  generally  loped  over  to  them  and  gave  no  fur- 
ther trouble.  The  wise  old  horse  would  then 
drop  into  a  walk  or  fox-trot  and  swing  back  to  the 
herd  for  another  passenger. 

Most  of  the  big  outfitters  kept  "chop  horses" 
especially  for  cutting,  and  needless  to  say,  they 
were  the  best  horses  on  the  ranches.    Steady  cut- 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  129 

ting  out  was  wearing  work  both  on  horse  and 
rider,  so  that  frequent  changes  were  necessary. 
The  worst  of  all  was  cutting  out  cows  and  calves, 
as  the  cow  might  be  ready  or  in  the  notion  to  go 
and  the  calf  was  not,  or  vice  versa.  It  was  desir- 
able to  cut  them  out  together,  so  that  the  cow's 
brand  could  be  duplicated  on  the  calf  when  the 
branding  was  being  done. 

The  ro^er  was  careful  not  to  rope  a  calf  until 
he  was  sure  of  the  brand  on  the  cow  claiming  that 
particular  calf.  Then  he  would  flip  his  ever-ready 
loop  on  the  unsuspecting  calf,  pull  for  the  corner 
where  the  branding  fire  was,  yelling  to  the  man 
doing  the  branding,  ''Square  and  compass,''  or  it 
might  be  ''Mule  shoe,"  C — N,"  "Cross-eyed  D,"  or 
any  of  the  many  other  brands  in  use  on  the  ranges. 

But  I  wander  from  my  subject — ^the  horse  and 
not  the  cow  or  cowboy  was  to  be  in  the  limelight 
this  time. 

Great  was  the  pleasure  and  satisfaction  in 
rounding  up  the  saddle  horses  in  the  spring  for 
the  first  roundup,  and  to  find  them  with  their 
heavy  winter  coats  of  shaggy  hair  shed  off,  leaving 
them  sleek  and  shining.  Proudly  would  they  trot 
along  toward  the  ranch,  playfully  nipping  at  each 
other,  or  pausing  to  take  a  bite  at  some  particu- 
larly-tempting bunch  of  grass ;  then  hurriedly  lop- 


130  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

ing  after  the  bunch  while  you  could  hear  the  "roll- 
ers''  in  their  nostrils,  as  they  blew  violently  to 
relieve  the  tickling  caused  by  the  long  grass.  (The 
grass  wasn't  always  long,  but  the  ''rollers''  rolled 
on  just  the  same.)  In  the  early  spring,  and  the 
first  green  thing  to  show  was  a  lemon,  which  na- 
ture had  handed  us  and  known  as  ''loco."  This 
plant  was  most  pleasing  to  the  eye,  with  its  bright 
green  and  wistiria-colored  blossoms,  and  was 
much  sought  after  by  horses  and  even  cattle,  after 
the  long  dry  months.  This  was  particularly  the 
case  once  they  had  acquired  the  "loco  habit."  The 
result  was  much  the  same  as  when  the  cpwboys 
imbibed  the  "near"  or  "squirrel  whiskey,"  com- 
monly dispensed,  and  which  seemed  to  make  them 
want  to  climb  trees  or  especially  some  other  punch- 
er's neck. 

This  "loco"  was  a  curse  to  us,  and  was  freely 
cursed,  as  a  good  horse  would  in  a  very  short  time 
be  ruined,  and  while  with  proper  care  and  atten- 
tion he  might  recover  somewhat,  he  was  always 
seeing  things  which  were  not,  and  a  rope  lying  on 
the  ground  evidently  looked  the  size  of  a  log  for, 
in  stepping  over  anything  of  that  nature  he  would 
lift  his  feet  high  in  the  air  or,  even  jump  over. 
(Take  my  advice,  don't  go  in  for  loco  unless  train- 
ing for  the  high  hurdles.) 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  131 

I  remember  distinctly  a  horse  that  was  in  my 
''mount;''  this  old  veteran  was  named  ''Gold 
Dust/'  Why,  I  never  discovered,  unless  he  was 
related  to  the  famous  "twins."  At  any  rate  he 
could  certainly  make  the  dirt  fly.  Gold  Dust  knew 
as  much  about  the  trade,  or  perhaps  more  than  I 
did,  and  often  I  would  leave  it  to  him  on  a  quick 
decision  in  some  mix-up  with  a  washout,  cactus 
bed,  or  concealed  badger  or  prairie  dog  hole. 

There  was  a  certain  big  four-year-old  steer  on 
our  range  that  I  had  a  standing  grievance  against, 
either  real  or  imaginary,  and  I  had  on  several 
occasions  promised  him  certain  things.  One  fine 
morning  we  met,  and  conditions  being  about  right 
for  his  chastisement,  I  took  down  my  rope  to 
practice  "fore-footing"  him.  To  rope  a  fleeing 
animal  by  the  front  feet  and  stop  your  horse  sud- 
denly results  in  a  most  awful  tumble  for  the 
"ropee." 

Gold  Dust  was  in  great  spirits,  I  wasn't  feeling 
so  bad  myself,  while  the  steer  "gayly"  ripped  up 
the  sod  with  his  flying  hoofs,  and  pelted  my  face 
with  pebbles.  We  very  soon  pulled  up  on  the  run- 
ning ox,  close  on  the  left  side.  Making  a  fair-sized 
loop  I  made  a  pass  across  his  back  and  slightly 
ahead  of  him.  By  the  instant  tug  on  my  "Mc- 
Carty"  I  knew  that  he  was  nominated,  so  started 


132  DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE 

to  swing  to  the  left  and  stop,  as  Hoyle  provides. 
Just  at  this  point  in  the  game  a  healthy  cedar  tree 
rose  up  between  us,  Gold  Dust  and  I  taking  to 
one  side  while  the  steer  preferred  the  other.  When 
we  came  to  tiie  end  of  the  rope  there  were  things 
doing  ^'practically  immediately.''  After  we  had 
picked  ourselves  up,  we  took  an  inventory  of  stock 
and  found  that  aside  from  a  bad  shake-up,  we  on 
our  side  were  still  in  the  ring.  Going  around  the 
tree  we  found  the  steer  with  a  broken  leg;  then 
we  didn't  feel  quite  so  gay. 

Many  and  varied  were  the  names  given  their 
mounts  by  the  cowboys,  the  only  limit  being  the 
scope  of  the  imagination  of  the  sponsors.  Some 
horse  might  be  named  after  a  friend,  and  called 
''John/'  or  "Bill;"  some  were  named  for  their 
looks,  but  the  majority  were  named  for  their  pecu- 
liarities or  characteristics,  and  they  are  as  varied 
as  we  could  expect  to  find  in  the  human  family.  A 
very  easy  riding,  pacing  pony  might  be  called 
"Ladies'  Fancy," — another  with  a  forbidding  eye 
would  be  known  as  "Tiger-Eye."  A  good  reliable 
horse  might  have  a  "moniker,"  such  as  "King 
Pin."  We  had  no  limit,  from  "Angel's  Serenade," 
which  indicated  a  sleepy  little  dun-colored  pacer, 
to  "Devil's  Dream,"  a  wiry,  double-action  black 
and  more  familiarly  known  as  "Nick." 


DAYS   THAT   ARE   DONE  133 

Had  Shakespeare  tried  out  the  merits  of  some 
of  our  horses,  I  think  he  would  have  readily  agreed 
that  between  ''Angel's  Serenade''  and  "Devil's 
Dream,"  there  is  all  the  difference  we  may  expect 
to  find  in  Paradise  and — well,  that  other  place 
where  cowboys  are  expected  to  foregather.  While 
the  name  may  not  make  any  material  difference,  it 
cuts  quite  a  figure,  like  the  clothes  on  a  man's  back. 
The  cow-pony  was  without  question  the  most  faith- 
ful friend  the  cowboy  could  ever  have.  It  was  a 
common  sight  in  the  cattle  country  to  see  a  long 
line  of  patiently  waiting  horses  ''parked"  in  front 
of  one  of  the  many  saloons,  where  they  would 
stand  for  hours  at  a  stretch,  and  not  tied.  Inside 
the  saloon  the  riders  would  probably  be  deep  in 
the  science  of  the  noble  game  of  poker,  or  they 
might  have  reached  the  stage  where  they  would 
be  loudly  proclaiming,  from  a  precarious  perch  on 
the  bar  or  a  pool  table  that  "I'm  the  oiitfightenist, 
oMtsJiootenist,  outridenist  son-of-a-gun  this  side  of 
Bitter  Creek;  I'm  a  wolf  when  I  walk  I  growl. 
Every  time  I  spit  it  starts  a  fire."  To  emphasize 
his  point  one  might  reel  out  to  his  horse,  and  climb 
aboard,  expecting  to  find  steam  right  up  to  the 
standard,  even  though  the  boiler  hadn't  been 
stoked  for  hours.  The  "knight"  might  ride 
directly  forward  into  the  saloon  door,  up  to  the  bar 


134  DAYS   THAT   ARE  DONE 

and  yell,  "Ho  slaves!  Bring  on  my  poison/'  He 
might  pull  for  another  saloon,  always  conveniently 
located,  or  he  might  strike  out  for  camp,  with  the 
throttle  wide  open. 

This  was  the  rule,  but  there  were  exceptions, 
men  who  thought  first  of  their  horses,  and  if  there 
was  any  doubt  about  the  eating  process,  they  gave 
the  horse  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  going  hungry 
themselves  that  their  horse  might  be  watered  and 
fed. 

Alas!  The  ''long  shadow  has  fallen''  and  the 
day  has  arrived  when  the  art  of  good  riding  is 
about  past.  It  doesn't  require  much  science  to 
stick  onto  a  ''flivver,"  as  long  as  it  stays  "butter 
side  up." 

It's  a  case  of 
-^        Good-bye  my  little  Annie, 
My  pony  won't  stand. 
Good-bye  to  old  "Paint," 
Farewell  to  "Cheyenne." 

— The  Cowboy's  Lament. 


